The Time Wish
by Sarah1281
Summary: After defeating Bill, Stan manages to get his hands on a time wish. Infinite pizza was a pretty good wish but he thinks he's got one better. 1982, Gravity Falls, moments before reuniting with his unraveling brother. Fixing things won't be easy but neither was teaching himself how to save Ford. This time things were going to be different. This time that portal was going down.
1. Chapter 1

Stan hesitated before he knocked which was, frankly, completely ridiculous.

It was only Ford.

And fine, maybe it hadn't been 'only' Ford since the day that his brother had discovered that he had broken his project and he'd gotten kicked out before he'd managed to explain it to him. He was still convinced that, if he'd been given the time, he could have squared it with Ford.

But he had faced down a Ford that was still – maybe justifiably – pissed that he had accidentally trapped him in another dimension for thirty years and then risked destroying the universe to bring him back. And okay, maybe that did come uncomfortably close to destroying the world. But it _didn't_. And Stanford got over it eventually.

Yeah, that had been an awkward few weeks, especially with Dipper hero-worshipping his brother who had a very questionable view of what was appropriate for children (and given he taught them how to counterfeit that was really saying something) and Mabel having growing up anxiety and a fear of losing her brother probably prompted by him and Ford. But it was over. Or rather, thanks to that time wish he'd managed to snag, it hadn't happened yet.

It wouldn't happen if he had anything to say about it.

He was nearly positive Bill Cipher had planned the whole thing in order to cause the rift. Even knowing that, should Stanford end up on the other side of the portal again, he wouldn't do anything differently. How could he? Ford hadn't been able to deny that he'd bring him back if their positions had been reversed (and much quicker), not in any of the arguments they had about Stan's reactivating the portal. Stan wouldn't have believed him if he had said he wouldn't have risked it to save him but he was still pleased his brother hadn't even been able to say it.

There was no way in hell Ford was ending up back in the portal but, with his previous experience and the fact that he'd pestered Ford until he knew where the other journals had been hidden, it should take considerably less than three fucking decades so it should be much less world-ending.

It was only Stanford. And yeah, going back in time and trying to change half your life was a bit of a tall order but it was what he wanted, more than anything, so there was no backing out now. God knew he had his sins but cowardice was not nor would it ever be one of them.

He knocked and, while he was expecting Ford to throw open the door looking like the crazy guy in a conspiracy movie and to point a crossbow at him, it was still a bit unsettling. "Who is it? Have you come to steal my eyes?"

Yeah, he'd never quite been able to figure that one out.

There was really only one thing he could say to that. "Um…no."

"Stanley, did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?" Ford demanded.

Stan pushed down the automatic sense of annoyance that came from someone doubting his skills. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be in such dire straits when he'd woken up in that crappy motel room up to his eyeballs in debts to Rico (whoever that even was). He'd been even more careful than avoiding those lowlifes had required because he'd known what was at stake here in Gravity Falls. But Ford didn't know what his life had been and he sure as hell didn't know just how much Stan understood.

He certainly hadn't the first time. Ford had even explained the portal to him, though nothing of Bill, and all he could think about was Ford summoning him just to banish him. Which, yeah, still a dick move. But Ford had never been great at putting himself in someone else's shoes and that went double for when he was stressed.

Stan held up his hands placatingly. "No one followed me, Ford. I was careful." A beat. "It's good to see you again."

As he had expected, Ford ignored that and pulled him into the shack.

He shined his flashlight into Stan's eyes and Stan had to blink rapidly to try and adjust. A little warning would be nice but, contrary to what Ford believed, he did understand.

"Good, you're not…" Ford trailed off, looking deeply relieved. "Uh, never mind."

Stan took a moment to just take in the sight of his brother. Seeing his own twenty-eight-year-old reflection was hard enough but at least he knew that he was just the same person, albeit in a far younger and better body.

Ford, though…Ford was completely in pieces. He hadn't yet been through half of the hell he had experienced by the time he walked out of that portal and he looked like he was at the end of his rope. But of course he had to have been to even think of calling Stan given the state of their relationship (or, well, the lack there of) at the time.

Fuck, he was so _young_.

Just twenty-eight.

Stan remembered, vaguely, that he had felt ancient by the time he was twenty-eight. And, to be fair, he had had cause. The decade between the times he had lost his brother had been the hardest of his life. Not the most painful, perhaps, but the hardest.

But what did he know? Twenty-eight was practically a baby.

Ford was only twenty-eight. His best friend had lost his damn mind and Ford blamed himself. He had been tricked into building a machine that could destroy the world and tasked with preventing that all on his own. He had been betrayed by someone he had trusted with _everything_ and he had had to put a metal plate in his own head in order to stop him.

He was too fucking young for this shit. For any of it.

Stan told himself firmly that he was not feeling maternal towards his twin brother just because said brother was currently an infant.

"Are you okay?" he asked, knowing that Ford really, really wasn't. And how could he be? He'd made a deal with a demon he thought a friend (how that happened, he wasn't quite sure. Bill Cipher had always come off as needing a punch in the face on his best days) and built a portal that could end the world. Fiddleford McGucket was quickly descending into madness and memory erasure on a terrifying scale. He had so little contact with the rest of town it was absurdly easy for Stan to take his place. And when he needed someone to trust, he turned to someone had had last seen ten years ago being kicked out after ruining his chances for West Coast Tech.

And Stan had read all the journals by now. The first hurt because it was so nerdy and happy and _Stanford_. It was hard to reconcile that with the paranoid mess he'd lost to the portal. The third journal was worse and no wonder it was giving Dipper issues. It almost made Stan himself paranoid. And the second journal and the very real questions Stan had about what exactly the nature of Ford and Bill's relationship was…

"I'm fine," Stanford said dismissively. Like hell he was. "Listen, there isn't much time. I've made _huge_ mistakes and I don't know who I can trust anymore."

"And you came to me," Stan said softly. He knew that already, of course, but it was one of those things he'd hated himself for over the years. After everything, after all the ways he'd ruined Stanford's life and crashed and burned his own, Ford still came tom him when it really mattered.

And Stan was hard-pressed to think of a way he could have failed his brother more.

Not this time.

"Yes, well, there didn't appear to be anyone else," Ford said.

That was true. And it irrationally stung to hear that Ford would have gone to literally anyone else if he could have. But he got it and that much had always been more than obvious. And when you came right down to it, Stan was the only one who made Ford's list.

It was just hard when he had already done this work once already, when he had already broken down Ford's resentment and rebuilt the ruins of what was once a relationship. But at least this Ford only had the one thing to be angry about. Science projects and dream schools were one thing. Thirty years of life and rifts in the universe were quite another and, if he were being honest, he really wasn't up to having that fight again anytime soon.

"Thank you."

That broke through Ford's paranoid frenzy. He stared at Stan as if he had grown another head and like Ford was not totally into that kind of thing.

"Stanley, you don't know what you're saying. You shouldn't be thanking me for dragging you into this."

He did, actually, and he couldn't claim to be thrilled to have been dragged into this crap. That wasn't what he was thanking him for. "Thank you for trusting me."

Several complicated emotions made their way across Ford's face. "Stanley…"

"I know I must not seem a natural choice, what with the fact we haven't talked for ten years and how we ended things. But you still think I can help with your…whatever this is. You can see how I might take that."

It was clear that Ford hadn't. "I…If it's worth anything, I knew you would come."

Of course he did. If there was one constant it was that Stan would do anything for his family, would always run when they called. And Ford had always relied on that more than he knew.

Stan offered him a warm smile. "So I'm here and I'm ready to help."

"I hope you can," Ford said, sighing. "I really don't know what else to do."

Stan knew better than to suggest just burning the journals and being done with it. Even if he waited until Ford actually brought up the journals so as not to set his paranoia off any further, his brother had literally tackled him and started what might be the first fistfight of his life when he had tried.

And yes, he'd been being petty (would he really have done it?) and it had made him forget everything else. The journals would be so much better off destroyed but Ford wouldn't be Ford if he could stand to let go of his knowledge. It represented years of work and Stan had never really understood until the summer it seemed that everyone and their mother was trying to take the Mystery Shack away.

He didn't think he had the heart to see Ford's face after he realized the journals were gone anyway.

"I have something to show you," Ford told him haltingly. "Something you wouldn't believe."

"I've been all around the world, Ford, and seen all kinds of crazy shit. Whatever it is, I'll understand."

Ford gave him the most skeptical look he'd ever seen and he had to stifle a laugh. It was true, the first time, he couldn't have been less able to understand. But now he knew more about the portal than 1982 Ford did.

Ford didn't have to show him the portal. He could have at least tried to fob him off with a lie. It would have been better if he had.

"No, really, I have," Stan said as he followed Ford towards the portal. "I've seen all kinds of things. Sea monsters and aliens and zombies.'

Ford grabbed the book that opened up the door to the basement. Personally, Stan felt the vending machine was cleverer.

"Yeah, secret passages are no big deal. I've seen ghosts and SpongeBob wannabees who may actually be Satan and death robots."

"This is a bit different than that," Ford cautioned, gesturing to the portal which had just come into view. Apparently Ford had been mired in the mysteries of Gravity Falls too long to realize how very out of the ordinary Stan's list had been.

Stan had to tap down the sudden surge of hatred. This stupid alien gateway. It had taken Ford from him and forced him to spend half his life bringing him back. It had caused a rift in the universe and nearly destroyed the whole world. What he wouldn't give to have a crowbar.

"See?" Ford asked, noting his silence. "I told you that-"

Stan couldn't resist. "Call me crazy but that looks like a portal to another dimension."

Ford blinked at him. "That-that's right. But how do you-?"

"I can pick up a book," Stan said dismissively. "That kind of stuff reminded me of you."

Something almost vulnerable crossed Ford's face. "Well, yes, I suppose I can see how that might be the case but, Stanley, this is very specialized material."

"And I can get there eventually," Stan said, "just not as far as you."

Ford nodded uncertainly.

"I'm no expert on this portal I am just now seeing for the first time," Stan lied. "But the theory I've seen says you need to punch a hole in a weak spot in our dimension. But, I gotta say Ford, progress is one thing but I don't like the thought of punching holes in our dimension. Who knows what could happen? I just picture all these Eldritch Abominations chilling in another dimension waiting to be let through."

Ford paled. "That is a very succinct summary of my problem."

"You've run into an Eldritch Abomination?" That was about as good of an explanation for Bill as anything.

Ford just shook his head, either outright lying or – hopefully – just not wanting to get into it five minutes after their being reunited.

"Why weren't you here warning me about the terrible destruction this could cause while I was building this?" Ford asked absently.

It was ridiculous. It had been decades. He had forgiven his brother for everything. He shouldn't still be feeling a surge of resentment at the question. It didn't matter.

"Don't feel too bad," Stan said. "I have no interest in the potential scientific breakthroughs access to another dimension could lead to. I'm just worried about monsters on the other side."

"And just look which of us built a portal that could destroy the world," Ford said bitterly. "Look, I don't know what you've been up to these past ten years-" and whose fault was that? "-but you cannot possibly have fucked up as much as I have."

"I'll take those odds," Stan muttered. "You said you needed my help with something?"

Ford nodded and picked his journal up. "Right. Of course. Do you remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?"

Stan groaned. He knew exactly what Ford was getting at and yet he still couldn't help getting his hopes up. Poor actual twenty-eight-year-old him hadn't stood a chance. What was actually wrong with Ford that he'd phrase it like that?

"What?" Ford asked defensively. "I didn't even tell you what I wanted you to do and you seemed willing to help a minute ago."

"I'm not saying I literally want to sail around the world treasure hunting anymore," Stan said. "It's harder than you'd think anyway. Besides, it was never about the boat. Not really. It was just a symbol of my relationship with you. It was about _us_. That's why I was still talking about it when we were in high school and I knew I was going to lose you. It's why I actually went treasure hunting. Unless you're about to say that you want to shut this whole mess down and go sailing, which I seriously doubt, maybe you don't want to open with 'remember that dream we used to have before life kicked us in the balls?'"

Ford took a moment to process that. "I can honestly say that that hadn't occurred to me."

Stan sighed. "Yeah, I figured. You're not cruel, Ford. Just a little tone-deaf sometimes."

"I'm afraid I don't have the time to go sailing, Stanley," Ford said gently, holding the journal out to Stan. "But why I brought it up is that I need you to take this journal as far away as you can and hide it as well as you can."

Stan made no move to take it. "Well hiding it as well as I can would probably be putting it in a Swiss deposit box or something but that might be expensive. Shipping it to New Jersey might be cheaper."

"Shipping-Stanley, I don't want to _ship_ it anywhere. I could have shipped it somewhere myself! I need you to take it with you."

Stan held up his hands placatingly. "I appreciate your need to keep your journal safe-"

"Clearly you don't or you wouldn't be suggesting-"

Stan raised his voice. "I'm not a hundred percent sure what's even in there but I'm guessing it's portal stuff. Getting this safe is important. I get it."

"Then why are you fighting this? I'm giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won't listen!"

These were old wounds being picked at, perhaps not healed as much as he'd like. The last time Ford had said that to him, he'd taken out his lighter.

"Wow," Stan said. "Just wow. You sure know how to butter a guy up, don't you?"

Ford winced. "Stanley-"

"And for your information," Stan said loudly, images of Wendy and Soos and McGucket and Dipper and Mabel and, yes, even Ford stepping out of that portal flashing through his mind, "it's not nearly the first worthwhile thing I've ever done."

"I'm sorry, I just…" Ford ran an agitated hand through his hair. "This is literally the fate of the world here. You say you understand that but you're being difficult."

"Do you have any idea _why_ I'm not jumping at the chance to take this journal and go?"

Ford rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I don't know. I'm not very good at asking for help? You just got here, maybe?"

Stan paused. "While both of those are true, my answer is that if I leave with that, I can't be here with you."

"Stanley, I appreciate that you want to-to _reconnect_ ," Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But this is more important than that."

"It's not about that," Stan countered. "Although, for that matter, it's not exactly a drawback."

"Then what is it?" Ford challenged.

"You tell me you're in over your head here," Stan said. "You've got a portal to another dimension that could be the end of the world. You seem to be all alone in this and, I hate to tell you, but you're kind of coming off like a crazy person. I mean, I believe everything you're saying so it's not just this and the end of the world thing. But I am seriously worried about you. And until two days ago I had a mullet so that should really tell you something."

Ford brushed that off. "I'm fine."

Stan raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Who were you worried was here to steal your eyes right before you shined a blinding light in _my_ eyes?"

Ford looked away. "I never said things weren't…stressful up here. But that's exactly why you can't stay! It's far too dangerous for you here."

"If it's too dangerous for me, it's too dangerous for you," Stan said flatly.

"That's probably true, actually, but I don't have a choice about being here. I can't just walk away and hope for the best. You don't have to be here."

"Actually, I do. I can't just abandon my brother in his time of need." Unlike Ford who had had no problem turning his back on him. And sure, Ford had only been seventeen but Stan had been seventeen, too, and he wouldn't have done it.

"I don't want you here for this." Big surprise there.

Stan rolled his eyes. "I said time of need, not time of want."

"But the journal-"

"I'll take care of it," Stan interrupted. "But I'm not leaving. I don't trust that I wouldn't come back in a week or so to some grisly murder or you just vanishing or something."

"Stanley-"

"It's a free country," Stan cut him off again. "I guess you could kick me out of your house and make me live in my car but that ain't going to deter me and I would hope you're not that much of an asshole."

Ford stared at him intently for a few minutes as if trying to will him to change his mind. But Stan had once punched Bill in his big stupid eye. He wasn't the type to back down. He especially wasn't going to when it was this important.

Eventually, Ford's shoulders slumped in defeat and he sighed. "I'm not going to kick you out."


	2. Chapter 2

Of course it wasn't that easy.

Stan got up early, found Ford in his paranoia and doomsday fever and just general Fordness had crap groceries, and headed into town. On his way, he made sure to introduce himself to literally everyone he met as Stanley Pines, twin brother of that mysterious scientist Stanford Pines. He was taking no chance on that front. It caused him physical pain to turn away all those suckers and their money but Ford had just barely agreed to let him stay the night. Stan had an uphill battle ahead of him and the Mystery Shack, much as he missed it, was only going to set him off.

He may have spent more time than he should have flirting with Susan but he'd had a crush on her for a long time and now she didn't even have that creepy eye thing!

On his way back to Ford's place with the groceries, he'd been about to introduce himself to someone who looked vaguely familiar when the man interrupted him.

"Stanley Pines. You must be him. You look just like _him_."

Stan looked closer. He couldn't quite tell but Stan could literally count on one hand the number of people in Gravity Falls that Ford had interacted with in any meaningful way. "Fiddleford McGucket?"

The man looked surprised. "Oh, he told you about me, did he? I hadn't thought you were in touch."

"We weren't," Stan said. "But he asked me to come and I just got in yesterday and he mentioned you used to work together." He hadn't, actually, but what difference did that make? It wasn't like the two of them, estranged as they were, were going to get together and compare notes on who revealed McGucket's existence to him. Fiddleford. He wasn't Old Man McGucket just yet. "Hey, I have to get back because this stuff will go bad but why don't you walk with me? I only just got here but I'm really worried."

Fiddleford tilted his head, considering. It was strange seeing _everyone_ so much younger than they should be but the difference in Fiddleford defied belief. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, sure, but it was such an improvement on the local kook he'd come to know. Maybe there was still time for him, too.

"Alright," he said finally. "But I'm not going back there."

"You don't have to," Stan assured him.

They fell into step together.

"I don't know how much Ford told you about me," Stan began.

"Not much," Fiddleford admitted. "At least not that I recall and that's somewhat of a worse indicator than it used to be. I just know that you had a falling out your senior year of high school. I was horrified you were kicked out and Ford wouldn't give me details but he did insist that he was seventeen, too, and it was your father's choice."

Stan laughed hollowly. "Well, he's not _wrong_. But he did leave out the part where I called out for support and he turned his back on me. It wouldn't have changed anything but it would have been nice."

Fiddleford looked curious but like he was too polite to say anything.

"I should probably add that I got kicked out because Stanford had this really advanced perpetual motion machine everyone was going gaga over. There was this college scout from West Coast Tech coming special to look at it."

Fiddleford let out a long, low whistle. "West Coast Tech."

Stan grimaced. "Yeah, I know. Big fucking deal. Nerd paradise. Well, I was standing right outside the room when the principal told my parents that Ford was a genius and that I was a future barnacle scraper or something. And Ford, as he always does, got so caught up in what he wanted that he didn't notice that I was terrified of losing him. And I went back to school and I hit the table the project was on. I never meant to break the project. But even though everything was still working when I left, I guess the thing stopped moving. West Coast Tech wasn't impressed. The minute Dad found out, I was out on my ass."

"And he still holds that accident against you after all this time?"

Stan couldn't tell if Fiddleford was surprised or not.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he still thinks I did it on purpose," Stan admitted. "He knew I didn't want him to go live on the other side of the country and he found proof I'd been there. He confronted me and I maybe wasn't as upset he couldn't go as I should have been. He accused me of sabotaging him and that's when Dad walked in. And, to be fair, if it was such an accident then why didn't I tell him about it so he could make sure nothing was wrong? And Ford's not used to falling on his face when it comes to nerdy stuff."

"Nerdy stuff," Fiddleford repeated mildly. "I think I resent that. Tell me, if it was such an accident, why didn't you tell him?"

"Eh, I don't even remember," Stan said. It had been forty years ago. "It was a long time ago. But I know I was scared and I didn't want to lose him. That's irony, right? I'm sure eventually we'll have a knock-down drag-out fight about it. I don't really want to but I know myself. Forgive me for not wanting that fight to be sooner instead of later. I just got here _yesterday_. All this happened in 1972."

Fiddleford nodded. "I see. And not to change the subject, but why did you want to speak with me? Surely it wasn't to make sure I knew your side of the story."

"You were his roommate at college, right?" Stan asked rhetorically. "And you've known him here."

"Yes," Fiddleford admitted reluctantly. "But we haven't spoken in months. Well, except for…it doesn't matter."

"You still know more than I do," Stan insisted. "Look, I got a postcard a week ago just asking me to come, not explaining anything. I hadn't heard boo for ten years and then this. So, schmuck that I am, I come here. Ford is…bad."

A slight crack in Fiddleford's demeanor. "Bad?"

Stan nodded. "Yeah, real bad. He nearly shot me with a crossbow and thought I was there to steal his eyes. Then he nearly blinded me with a flashlight. Not that he explained this, by the way, but I think he was seeing if I was possessed. He was really paranoid."

Fiddleford sighed and wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"But not surprised."

Fiddleford hesitated.

"Look, he showed me that weird portal thing you guys built," Stan said. "He's talking end of the world. He thinks something powerful is out to get him. He gave me his journal and told me to take it and run but God knows I'm not leaving him alone like this. I don't understand everything but I'm really worried about him."

"So am I," Fiddleford admitted.

"What happened? Why did you two stop working together?"

Another hesitation.

"Fiddleford, please."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you," Fiddleford told him, looking – in fact – quite like he didn't want to tell him. "But I don't quite remember."

It didn't _surprise_ Stan that Fiddleford had already started fucking with his head but it was annoying. And potentially very dangerous for him since he didn't have any intention of shoving a metal plate in his head like Ford had.

"You don't remember?" Stan asked skeptically, as one would when they didn't know everyone in town's dirty little secrets. "Can't have been that big of a deal if you just forgot."

Fiddleford gave him an annoyed look. "It being such a 'big deal' is why I forgot in the first place."

"Let's pretend that makes sense. You wouldn't know, would you?"

"I remember that much," Fiddleford said grimly. "Your brother and I built a portal to other dimensions. Is it really so hard to believe that someone could invent away to forget?"

Well, he came right out with that, didn't he? But then, Stan already knew about the portal. "Maybe it's not impossible but it sounds like a _terrible_ idea." Except, well, when they needed to get nosy feds off their back. But that was special circumstances designed to save their family, not 'boo hoo I saw a gnome.'

"Is it? You've never seen something you'd just as soon forget?"

Stan let out a startled laugh. "Oh, I'm all too familiar with that. But it's my life and my experiences. I wouldn't get rid of any of it."

Fiddleford nodded. "Maybe you haven't seen the kinds of things I have."

Stan rolled his eyes but he wasn't offended. It's not like he wore his past on his sleeve. "I know you wouldn't know for sure but what do you suppose is the likelihood you've ever been to prison? In three countries? Or had to chew your way out of the trunk of a car? I'm lucky I didn't break a tooth!"

Fiddleford looked a little shocked and Stan felt darkly satisfied. Maybe Stan's past didn't involve deals with demons but it was still enough to shock Ford's nerdy friends.

"Maybe we just have different tolerances for horrible memories," Fiddleford continued, barely missing a beat. "But I do assure you that, while what I've seen is less…well, it's different than what you've been through. But it's no less upsetting or valid than your experiences."

Well, he wasn't going to be the asshole who told someone what they'd been through didn't matter. He didn't now what Fiddleford had seen on the other side of the portal or why that seemed to fuck him up more than Ford's thirty years had (not that Ford hadn't had a boatload of issues before and twice as many after). He didn't know if the gun was just somehow addictive or why else Fiddleford had used it until it literally destroyed his memory and rendered him immune to its effects. But people didn't just wake up one day and decide to invent a memory gun and a creepy secret society because they had too much free time. Old Man McGucket had always swung towards robots for that.

"I got that. But how safe is it?"

"Safe?" Fiddleford repeated, frowning. "No one has ever exhibited any ill effects. Using it too often is starting to point to some memory loss but that is outlier data."

"Well that wasn't quite what I meant," Stan said. "Although, outlier or not, that is highly concerning." He wondered who that outlier could possibly be. Was it better or worse that at least Fiddleford was aware what was happening to him?

"For the majority of people, it's not a problem," Fiddleford said firmly. "And I'm looking into it."

"What if someone needs to get their memory wiped because they, I don't know, see some gnomes stealing a pie," Stan said. Mabel had mentioned something like that had happened to Lazy Susan, hadn't she? "There are a lot of gnomes in Gravity Falls. How many times are you going to need to do that? How long before she's an outlier, too?"

"We don't go after people every time they see anything out of the ordinary," Fiddleford insisted. "This is Gravity Falls. People here are used to it and ignore or don't even notice most of the weird stuff. We just help them when they are distressed."

"That's no way to teach coping skills," Stan grumbled. "And if the sight of gnomes distresses them?"

"I can honestly say that that hasn't been a problem."

Stan crossed his arms belligerently. "And when it does? If you're going to be doing this to people you should have a goddamn _plan_."

"Point taken," Fiddleford said evenly. "Why do you take such an issue with me helping those who are distressed? I'm well-aware of Stanford's objections but somehow I don't think they'll be along the same lines as yours."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, I don't give a damn about scientific advances. I just know erasing people's memory without their consent is some shady shit."

"It's not without their consent." Fiddleford sounded offended.

"You up and kidnap them, right? So you don't have to go shoot-er, hitting them in public. Of course they're going to be distressed after that! Do you, I don't know, get informed consent or something? Don't you scientist types have ethics?"

"We do," Fiddleford conceded. "But, as always, these things are far simpler in a classroom."

"Don't abduct people and erase their memories," Stan said flatly. "Seems pretty straightforward."

"And leave them to be traumatized by the horrors of Gravity Falls? That would be irresponsible."

"They somehow managed before you did all this," Stan pointed out.

Fiddleford nodded. "There's a difference between just surviving and the quality of life that comes from a lack of trauma and my memory guns can be the deciding factor there."

"And if someone was upset about what they saw and started screaming for you to leave them alone and they wanted to remember?" Stan challenged.

"It's never come up," Fiddleford said with a tight smile. "We haven't been doing this for very long."

"Maybe you should have thought these things through before you started," Stan suggested pointedly.

"Maybe we should have," Fiddleford acknowledged. "It's a little late now, though. I can just do my best to make this process better."

"I feel I should mention that I don't care what I see, I don't want anybody erasing any of my memories. Ever."

"I had gathered that, actually," Fiddleford said dryly.

"And I'd like it in writing, just in case you forget," Stan continued. "I just want to make sure that we're clear. But I was going to bring up safety. Gravity Falls is a pretty dangerous place. I ran into a freaking pterodactyl. It makes sense that all this weirdness and, more to the point, danger is really distressing. But knowing about something that wants to kill you makes you safer than not knowing about it. Take you, for instance. You're sure whatever happened was really bad but you don't know what. Ford's in over his head. What if knowing would make the difference between life and death, between just another day and an apocalypse?"

Fiddleford sighed. "To tell you the truth, Stanley, I do worry about that. It's hard to know you've made the right choices. Take me and Ford. Why exactly did I leave the project? I know there was a, shall we say, lab safety failure and I fell halfway into the portal before Ford could pull me out. But I remember none of this. Was it what almost happened? Was it what I saw? I just have to trust myself. But it's hard to trust yourself when you don't understand why you made the choices that you did. And, in the end, how much can you really _ever_ trust yourself?"

That sounded like the same kind of paranoia that was consuming Ford. Stan had never been so grateful that that had never been one of his many problems.

"I would hope you could trust yourself," he said finally. "How else would you know who to trust?"

Strangely, Fiddleford seemed pleased by the question. "That is exactly the issue."

"You fell through the portal," Stan said, shuddering. He could still see the look on Ford's face as he had been pulled in. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to go back and make sure that practically teenage Ford was still right where he left him. But he needed to finish this first. "Even if only partially. Even if it wasn't for very long. Even if you don't remember. I don't blame you for quitting."

"For the most part, I don't either. I think Ford does, though he denies it. But I don't _remember_." He sounded frustrated. "And I know that was my choice and I must have had my reasons but that just brings up _questions_. I don't know what's coming, what your brother will do, but I don't trust it."

"Ford," Stan said. "What's going on with him? What's he so afraid of? Why does he think this portal is a bad idea? Is it just what happened to you?"

"I don't know everything," Fiddleford cautioned. "I don't think I did even before."

"You know more than I do," Stan said. "Come on. I just want to help him."

Finally, Fiddleford nodded. "He didn't tell me everything. I suppose that thing told him not to. That I wouldn't understand. Of course, I look at it as me seeing right through him."

Bill?

"What?"

"Apparently he was having problems trying to find the source of all the anomalies here in Gravity Falls," Fiddleford said. "And that was real important to him. It wasn't enough to just study all the strange creatures and happenings here, though he did that, too, and extensively. He wanted to figure out just what it was about Gravity Falls that led to it being such an epicenter for weirdness. I don't know how he made contact with Bill or even what Bill is, exactly, but it's become a real problem."

"Bill," Stan repeated. "Is that some sort of a person or something? What do you mean what he is? Like he's an elf or wizard or whatever?"

"I have never seen Bill," Fiddleford said. "Not in his true form. If that's even his true form. But judging from what Stanford has said and the rather alarming shrine he had built in his house, he's some sort of triangle. I think he's a demon. He promised Ford answers and he seemed to be providing them. He gave us a lot of help on the portal. I didn't like him or trust him because I'm a god-fearing man and something about all this possession stuff wasn't right."

"Possession?" Stan asked. He knew that, distantly. But it had all been years ago and he'd never seen it. Fiddleford had. "My brother's been getting possessed?"

"It was consensual," Fiddleford replied distastefully. "Or as consensual as these things get, at any rate. I told him it was a bad idea but he thought I was being unfair to Bill. He said there is nothing inherently wrong in body-sharing as long as both sides know what they're getting into and don't try to take advantage. And I suppose I can see the logic of his arguments but I could just never…" He trailed off and shuddered. "There was just something so unsettling about him, even when he was being helpful. Or we thought he was being helpful. You can tell a possessed person from their eyes. Their pupils are like a cat and their eyes are all yellow. I didn't have any real concrete reason to distrust Bill, except for him being a body-stealing demon and all, until…Well whatever it was that happened. If Bill provided us with so much information for the portal and it was his idea in the first place and something happened…Well I'm not so inclined to think there was some sort of mistake."

Stan nodded. "That seems reasonable. I don't really like the idea of demons and possession, either."

"I wouldn't have thought that that would be a controversial subject but you know how your brother gets when it comes to beings he feels are being unfairly stereotyped."

Stan just sighed. "I mean, I love the guy. I really do. Probably more than he'll ever wake up and realize, to be honest. But I will never understand his need to equate every weird thing in the world with the fact he has six fingers. Is that uncommon? Yes. Did some assholes give him a really hard time about it when we were kids? Absolutely. It's why I'm so good at punching assholes. But there is a big difference between a couple of extra fingers and demons who want to possess you and open up a portal that will probably lead to the end of the world."

"I hope you can get that through to him," Fiddleford said. "If he hasn't already worked it out."

"I think he already figured out he was wrong about Bill," Stan said. "Not that he's mentioned Bill. But he has mentioned the portal being a terrible idea and creatures after him. And not that I'd know what the house looked like before but I haven't seen a lot of triangles lying around. I mean, I can't say that I've seen _none_ but not what I would consider an excessive number of shapes. You say you haven't really talked to him since it happened?"

Fiddleford hesitated. "I'm really not the best person to ask about that."

"You were there," Stan said flatly. "Or weren't there, as the case may be."

"That's true," Fiddleford agreed, looking away.

"Damn it, Fiddleford. Not wanting to remember whatever was on the other side of the portal I can understand. Maybe not agree with, especially if you didn't write it down or warn someone before you did but I can understand it. But if you know that there's a good chance the end is coming and you just rip that knowledge right out of your head…I hope you'll have enjoyed having a little less stress when a triangle comes to kill us all."

"You're so flippant," Fiddleford accused. "It's not that easy."

"No one said it was," Stan said unrepentantly. "But this is the potential end of the world we're talking about. Fuck, I can't believe I just showed up for a reunion and now I've got this shit to deal with. Ford's all paranoid, I don't understand everything that's happening, and you won't even remember. Do you like those odds? I don't like those odds."

"I don't like our odds even if we were all functioning at full capacity."

"Yeah but you're saying that completely out of the loop and not even knowing everything you should be knowing," Stan pointed out. "Ford's a mess but he seems to have had a plan."

"I'm pretty sure Ford's plans are what led us here," Fiddleford said pointedly.

"Hey, let's not blame him for whatever crap Bill's up to," Stan said firmly. "Though to the extent he listened, that just means he should probably stop it, right?"

Fiddleford stopped suddenly. "We're here."

Sure enough, the Shack had just come into view.

"I don't suppose you're coming to come in after all and finish this discussion?" Stan asked, knowing that there was no way he was going to agree to that.

"I think it's about finished," Fiddleford said. "I don't know what else I can tell you, I really don't."

"Yeah, okay," Stan grumbled. "But if the next time I see you you have no idea who I am I swear to God I'm egging your house."

"I'll keep that in mind," Fiddleford said, turning to go.

"I mean it!" Stan called after him. "And I'll TP your house, too! I've done it for far less than deliberately ignoring the end of the world!"


	3. Chapter 3

Ford was sitting at the kitchen table, looking far too tense to be good for him, when Stan came in.

"Stanley! Where were you?" Ford demanded, jumping up when he saw Stan had gotten back.

"Here, help me with this, will you?" Stan asked, handing Ford some of the bags.

Ford peered inside one of the bags. "Groceries? Why would you go out and get groceries?"

"Because you had nothing and I cannot live like this," Stan said seriously. He dug around for a skillet and turned the stove on.

"No one's asking you to," Ford said. "I'm certainly not. I wanted you to leave yesterday."

Stan rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah. Well, your many failings as a host aside, you needed groceries and so I went out and got groceries."

"Now what are you doing?" Ford demanded.

"I'm cooking breakfast," Stan said. "You're welcome, by the way. Geez, if you can't even recognize what cooking looks like then clearly you need my help more than you thought."

Ford scowled at him. "I recognize cooking, I wasn't literally asking-Never mind. I don't have time to cook. I need to prevent the apocalypse."

"Eggs take less than ten minutes to cook," Stan pointed out, reaching for an egg. "And you have to eat. Sleep's good, too. You're not going to be able to stop anything if you don't take care of yourself, especially since I have yet to hear anything about the apocalypse being scheduled for, I don't know, Tuesday or something. This could be a long game, right?"

"It's not a game."

"And I was not literally suggesting that it was," Stan said. "Clearly the both of us need to learn a little something about figurative language. Besides, if you have time to yell at me for grocery shopping then I have time to multitask and feed us both. Again, you're welcome."

"I'm not going to thank you," Ford said.

"I think I just died of not-surprise."

"If I _was_ going to thank you-"

"Which you weren't," Stan interrupted.

"I might have," Ford insisted. "I have manners and it's a reflexive thing to do when people give you food. But now you've brought up the fact I haven't thanked you twice so I'm not going to let you shame me into it."

"If you say so…"

Stan finished cooking the eggs in silence.

When he put Ford's in front of him and sat down across from him, Ford said, "You didn't talk to anyone when you were in town, did you?"

"I talked to what I suspect is everyone in town," Stan said. "And I told them all that I was your brother Stanley."

Ford stared at him in horror. "Why would you do that?"

Because he couldn't take another thirty years of being Ford. The first time had nearly broken him and, even if he had no intention of putting himself in a position where he might be tempted to, he wanted to make sure that that was not an avenue left open to him.

"Was I not supposed to? I mean, I know we don't really get on but I didn't know that my existence was literally a secret."

Ford took off his glasses and tired rubbed his eyes. He didn't seem to have gotten much sleep last night. Stan had had the best sleep he'd had in years, secure in the knowledge that Ford had never seen the other side of that portal. "No, of course not. But you can't trust anybody in Gravity Falls."

"You're in Gravity Falls."

Ford laughed bitterly. "And I am no exception. Maybe you shouldn't trust me the most, even. Any individual townsperson might be innocent. In fact, all of them may be. I know that I'm not."

Stan had been trying to figure out the best way to bring up Bill. He had heard about it from Fiddleford so that gave him so plausible reason for knowing. Telling his brother that he was from the future and had accidentally trapped him in a portal for thirty years before giving Bill the means to start the apocalypse was not something he was sure he was ever going to want to bring up and he certainly wasn't going to do it today. That was just asking for trouble and he needed Ford to eventually be willing to listen to him.

If he slipped up and revealed he knew about Bill or that he had known and kept quiet about it then it would just further damage Ford's faith in him and God knew that had never been all that high to begin with. Well, perhaps that was unfair. But it had never been very high since the science fair incident. Not until the very dark and very weird days following the rift breaking.

He should probably just go for it and see what happened. It was easier to handle Ford's reactions than to predict them anyway.

"Do you mean because of Bill?"

Ford's hand tightened unconsciously around his fork. "Bill? What do you know about Bill?"

"Not much," Stan said, as casually as he could. "I told you I talked to _everyone_. The only person who seemed to really know you was this guy who claimed to be your ex-research assistant. Fiddleford McGucket."

Something that might have been guilt crossed Ford's face. "You spoke to Fiddleford."

"Yeah, he's pretty worried about you."

Ford snorted. "He has a funny way of showing it."

"Well it takes two people to avoid each other," Stan told him.

"And how exactly am I supposed to be reaching out when the last time I saw him he was pointing a gun at my head and pulling the trigger?" Ford asked icily.

Stan drew back, surprised. "Wait, a gun? Then how are you-"

"It wasn't a normal gun," Ford interrupted. "Though in some ways it may be worse. It's a gun that leaves you physically unharmed but erases your memory."

"He-he told me about those," Stan said. "We actually got into a bit of an argument about it even though I hadn't come there to fight. He said that he only uses it on people who want it."

"And you _believed_ him?" Ford asked incredulously.

"Well, not exactly," Stan conceded. "But I believe that he believes it at any rate. I can't imagine how he would be confused about whether you wanted to have your memory erased."

"He wasn't," Ford said grimly. "He – and the Society of the Blind Eye – do seem to be more interested in relieving the distress of people who have lived here all their lives and somehow never realized just how weird this town is. But he said I was an _exception_. He acts like just because I was fooled by Bill – and I know better now! – and built the portal that is putting us in danger now, I'm too dangerous to trust with this knowledge."

"I mean, I can kind of see his point," Stan admitted. "You knowing about Bill and building the portal seems to have done a lot of damage."

Ford glared at him.

"But it's not like there's anyone else," Stan said quickly. "He erased whatever it is he saw on the other side of that portal. And if you don't remember Bill, he could trick you again. Forewarned is forearmed and whatever, right? But wait, if he went after you then how are you unaffected? Or are you?"

"It turns out that having a metal plate in your head can negate the effects of the gun," Ford told him.

"Wait, what?" Stan asked, pretending to be surprised. "You have a metal plate in your head?"

"Back…" Ford trailed off, looking away. "What exactly did Fiddleford tell you about Bill?"

"Demonic triangle who told you things to help you build the portal," Stan said. "Turned out to be evil. I think he also mentioned possession."

Ford nodded jerkily. "It was part of our deal. He has to possess someone to interact meaningfully with the world. He needs consent, though it seems it can be coerced or tricked. I gave mine, no restrictions. I discovered a metal plate can prevent them from possessing me. And it saved me from Fiddleford's cult."

"A metal plate," Stan repeated. He'd wanted to ask this before but it had been too long after discovering that before he felt comfortable asking. "Would magnets stick to your head?"

Ford just stared at him. "Why would magnets stick to my head?"

Stan shrugged. "Well, it's metal, right? Metal is magnetic."

"Not _all_ metal," Ford corrected. "Really, it's only materials containing iron, cobalt, nickel, or a few other rare elements that contain noticeable magnetism."

"And that's not all metals?"

"Not nearly," Ford replied. "And I did consider this when choosing a nonmagnetic metal. I should probably also say, lest you have more questions, then yes I would set off a metal detector but plenty of people would. I could just explain I have a metal plate and let them assume a doctor put it in. Not that I would be liable to encounter a metal detector but if I did I would be prepared. No, I couldn't use an MRI but it's a small price to pay to keep Bill out."

That brought Stan to his more pressing question. "How, exactly, did you get a metal plate in your head?"

Ford started to answer then stopped. "Why?"

Stan was actually pleased that Ford seemed to realize he'd be upset hearing about Ford doing stupid, risky shit. "I'm just worried. I mean, you're clearly fine but please tell me you didn't just bite down on some leather and start drilling into your own head."

Ford hesitated. "That's not…precisely…what happened."

Stan crossed his arms. "Well I for one would love to hear just how _precisely_ it was."

Ford shifted uncomfortably. "What does it matter? This was months ago and I'm clearly fine. Don't blow this out of proportion."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Oh, no. You don't get to act like you were out two hours past curfew or something stupid like that."

" _I_ never missed curfew," Ford pointed out. "That was always you."

Stan ignored that. "You literally performed brain surgery on yourself. This is serious fucking business whether it all worked out or not! And I'm not being weird or-or _suffocating_ for being alarmed!"

Ford's eyes softened. "I didn't say you were. I'm sorry. I just know it was reckless and dangerous and I shouldn't have done it but I felt it was…how should I put it? The best bad idea I had."

"You could have reached out to me," Stan said. "You sent for me to hide a journal-"

"Which you won't do," Ford interrupted a bit petulantly.

"I told you I'd take care of it, just not the way you want to. You can be a bit of a control freak," Stan explained.

Ford just gave him an unimpressed look.

"My point being, if you could reach out to me for that, you could have reached out for this!"

"What, exactly, do you know about brain surgery?"

Stan tapped his chin. "I don't know, Dr. Pines, I didn't realize your doctorate was for neurology. And besides, I couldn't be worse than you doing it yourself."

"I have two doctorates," Ford told him. "And I'm thinking about starting another one when all this dies down. Assuming we don't all die, of course."

"Well good for you," Stan said. Ford would never, ever stop. Not when it came to academia. He had made Stan clear up their legal status and get Ford's record expunged mostly so he could start his thirteenth PhD.

Ford sighed. "I couldn't wait a few weeks to contact you and for you to get here, if you even came which I suppose wasn't a guarantee even if it felt like it, before protecting myself from Bill. Every minute I was unprotected was another minute he could have taken me and done anything."

Stan had a far better idea than Ford did of just what Bill could and would do. He carefully didn't think about a golden statue. And he'd seen just how fast Bill could work with poor Mabel. "I do get it. But how did you do it?"

"I have an amulet," Ford explained. "It give you telekinetic powers. I wasn't able to sedate myself because I needed to focus when performing the surgery. It was…brutal. But it was the only way to do it. I couldn't very well ask a doctor to help as I'd never be able to explain why I needed it. And I couldn't trust that they, too, weren't under Bill's sway."

"How horrible to live like that," Stan said softly.

Ford laughed, darkly amused. "Oh, yes."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," Stan told him. "I'm even sorrier you had to go through it alone."

"I don't understand you," Ford said slowly.

"Me? Nothing at all strange about me!" Stan said, laughing a little too loudly.

Ford wasn't going to realize he'd come back from the future but there were a lot of other worrying conclusions he might jump to.

"I haven't seen you in ten years," Ford said. "The last time we met was pretty bad. I don't know what your life has been but I sent that postcard to Dead End Flats and, well, the name really speaks for itself, I think. Yet all you've done since you got here was worry about my personal wellbeing, even though I think I've been very clear about the fate of the world being at stake."

Stan held up a hand. "Hey, I'll have you know that I am fully on board with this whole stopping the apocalypse thing. And if you tell me, and I believe you, that the only way to stop it were for you and no one else to sacrifice yourself then there's at least a 75 percent chance I'd let you do it."

"Stanley!"

"Fine, fine. 76 percent."

"Stan, you can't put anything above saving the world. Literally anything. Even if you ignore all pragmatism or the fact that everyone else you care about also lives here, if you don't save the world saving one person is ultimately meaningless because they die when the world does."

Stan nodded. "All excellent points. There's a 76 percent chance I agree with you."

" _Stan_."

"I wouldn't try and push it any higher. I think 76 percent is as high as I'm willing to go," Stan said.

Ford gave him a frustrated look. "You're being impossible."

"It's not like, intellectually, I disagree with you. I just think that you might find it a little harder to sacrifice someone you care about in order to stop this."

"I never said sacrifice, or even self-sacrifice, would be easy and it is not something I intend to court," Ford said. "But when the time comes I will not hesitate."

Stan sighed. "Yeah, I know. And there's nothing wrong with that. But that's why I got to keep the other things in mind. I hope you know that this isn't your fault."

Ford choked. "Not…what do you mean this isn't my fault? I built the portal, I was the one in charge when Fiddleford fell through and didn't have adequate safety procedures, I'm the one who trusted Bill and let him use me, I'm the one who even summoned him in the first place…everything that's happening here can be traced back to me."

Stan actually hadn't known that Ford had summoned Bill but it did make sense. He always thought Ford was putting a little too much of the blame on himself (and to a lesser extent onto Stan who saw plenty of warnings but nothing really concrete about the world ending).

"Except that it actually traces back to Bill. You feel responsible because Bill tricked you. Because Bill wants to destroy the world. What sense does it make for you to be the one responsible for trusting a bad guy and not the bad guy himself? He doesn't get let off the hook just because we all expected it of him."

Ford looked unconvinced. "He wouldn't have had any foothold in this dimension if it weren't for me."

"He'd have just found somebody else," Stan said.

"He hadn't before."

"And that means he never will?" Stan asked skeptically. "You're too hard on yourself. Don't worry, we'll work on it."

"There you go again, worrying so much about me," Ford said, shaking his head.

"Well, yeah, Ford. It's what I do."

"Is it?" Ford asked. "It's been a decade."

"Is there some sort of problem with me worrying about you? Is it bothering you?" Stan asked.

"No, of course not," Ford said. "Even if it's making me question your dedication to stopping Bill."

"Only at the cost of your life," Stan said. "If it doesn't kill you or, I don't know, trap you on the other side of that portal then we're good. But let's not go all worst case scenario here. If it's not a problem that I worry then what is it? Is it really so hard to believe that I could be concerned about you? If I was going to be worried about anyone at any time, I think worrying about you right now is a pretty good plan."

"I just don't understand it."

It was on the tip of Stan's tongue to ask him if that were because of the science fair project but he had no intention of opening that particular can of worms anytime soon.

"It's called giving a damn about family," Stan said finally, wondering how he could explain it. It was just one of those things that you got or you didn't and that Ford had had trouble with for a long time, even before being along all those years. "You don't have to be able to logically explain it. It doesn't always lead to the best decisions. But it means that I'm going to be here for you regardless of whether you understand it or deserve it and I'm never going to _not_ be here for you when you need me no matter what happens."

Ford swallowed. "That's a rather bold pronouncement."

"And see if I don't mean every word of it."

Ford looked at him intently for a minute before slowly nodding.

Stan rather took that as a good sign.


	4. Chapter 4

What kind of brother would he be if he let Ford spend the next thirty years locked in this house? Granted, probably a better brother than if he had let Ford get knocked into that portal and then started Weirdmageddon getting him back but he already fixed that so the next step was to get Ford to be less of a hermit.

"Ford, I've been here for a week and a half now and you haven't left this house once," Stan announced. "Or if you have it's only when I'm sleeping or when I'm out, too, in which case I'm a little suspicious why you feel the need to hide the fact you're leaving the house from me. Either way, it's weird."

"I can't leave the house," Ford told him, not looking up from his journal.

"Okay, pretend that's not ridiculous for a second," Stan said. "Why not?"

"There's a portal to another dimension in the basement," Ford reminded him. "It could help bring about the end of the world. I can't just leave it unattended."

"Well…I'm also here," Stan pointed out.

"That's not any better than leaving it unattended," Ford told him. "Or, well, not much better at any rate."

Stan narrowed his eyes at him. "Gee, thanks."

Ford shook his head impatiently. "No, that's not what I meant."

"You really should start actually saying what you mean because I don't know if it's Freud or what but you keep accidentally insulting me," Stan complained.

"I'm just stressed out," Ford said. "Look, I inserted a metal plate into my head. I'm safe from possession by Bill. You dismissed the idea of getting a plate in your own head out of hand-"

"As, I would like to think, any normal person would do," Stan interrupted.

"Normal people don't find themselves in these kinds of situations," Ford said. "You are not protected against Bill. This house is not protected against Bill. I can't just walk away and risk him choosing to attack when this place is vulnerable. I can't even guarantee he won't attack when I'm sitting right here."

"You could always dismantle the portal," Stan offered.

Ford shook his head. "I couldn't risk it."

"Why not?" Stan asked. "You think you'd do it wrong or something?"

"Not exactly," Ford replied. "Taking the portal down safely is very delicate, very dangerous work. I would need to be completely focused. And if Bill hasn't attacked before, he definitely will if he catches wind of what I'm doing. I covered or otherwise disposed of all the images of Bill that I've found to stop him from seeing what I do but I can't risk it. Not when the fate of the world could be jeopardized by a mistake or a distraction."

"So it sounds like what we need to do is Bill-proof this place," Stan said. "Because while I do love you, Ford, I do not love you enough to let you perform brain surgery on me and metal plates do not belong in people's heads."

"I keep telling you, Stan, I did it to myself and I'm perfectly fine," Ford told him.

Stan laughed. "We seriously need to reevaluate your definition of the word 'fine.'"

"Well it's not like there's any real way to protect the house, either," Ford said. "If there was I would have done it already."

Stan frowned. That didn't seem right. While he had been a little busy quickly getting rid of some pugs after the news anchors had, for some reason, felt the need to remind everyone that he had a truly impressive criminal record (or, well, Stanford Pines did at any rate) to help out, he had heard afterwards that they had found a way to protect the Shack. It was why that was pretty much the only building still standing in Gravity Falls after Weirdmageddon had started. Since he had been there for Ford's last moments in this dimension originally, it would have to be something Ford already knew about as he certainly hadn't gotten out very much before they'd stopped Bill.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "There's nothing? Not even a long-shot?"

Ford hesitated. "Well…"

"I like the sound of that. Sounds much better than 'literally nothing'," Stan said.

"There is something that should theoretically work on Bill," Ford said. "It hasn't been tested, of course, because before there was no need for it. I would need moonstones, mercury, and unicorn hair. The first two wouldn't be a problem but the last one…I really don't think it's even worth attempting."

"Why, are there not any unicorns in Gravity Falls or something?" Stan asked. And who knew? Maybe there weren't. There must have been some in 2012 but that was a long time from now. Things have a way of changing.

"No, there are, they're just…extremely frustrating," Ford said with an expression of distaste.

"More frustrating than not having a way to keep Bill out?" Stan challenged.

Ford hesitated.

"Ford."

"I mean, it really is a toss-up," Ford said. "I encountered some a few years ago, before I'd even heard of Bill, and I just…that was not a good experience."

"Well I'm sorry that you need to face them again but you really do need to face them again," Stan said quietly.

Ford sighed. "You're probably right."

"Now, you know all about this but, given your previous difficulties, I'd like to come with you," Stan said. "Would the house be alright for a few hours, do you think? I mean, you must have left before I came, right? If only to get groceries and stuff."

"I did but not for very long," Ford replied. "I don't know that you'd be able to help but having you can't hurt."

In a way, that was progress. Stan just had to keep telling himself that.

"I probably wouldn't be very much good at the sha-house without that metal plate, right?" Stan asked rhetorically, refusing to feel bad about not being willing to stick a metal plate into his own head.

"Bill can't just force his way in if you've never made a deal," Ford said. "And I very much doubt you've made a deal. But he's crafty."

"Yeah, well, so am I and I haven't been conned since 74," Stan said. Which was actually quite a bit longer than Ford thought but eight years was also perfectly respectable, especially at their supposed age.

"Why do you keep calling my house 'the shack' anyway?"

Stan just coughed and said nothing.

* * *

The thing about Ford on a mission was that it was too easy for him to get overly focused on it and not want to think about anything else. And while this was important, there was only so much they needed to discuss about unicorns.

Stan remembered when that wasn't the case, when he could get Ford to focus on something else even while they were working, but those days had been left behind in New Jersey and he wasn't sure just yet how to get them back.

"This is the magical part of the forest," Ford announced finally.

"Magic part?" Stan asked. "What about all those weird things we passed on our way here?"

"It's not as though there's a barrier keeping the creatures in," Ford said. "Most magical creatures can and do leave the magical areas even if that's not where they belong. But this is the kind of place we need to be at if we want to summon a unicorn."

"Well your voice is deeper than mine so I'll let you get to it," Stan said. "Mind sharing how you managed to figure out how to summon a unicorn anyway?"

Ford shrugged. "As to that it was just a matter of asking the right people. Summoning unicorns isn't really a secret. No one likes to have anything to do with them. Well, except that gnome therapist who specializes in people who just got back from seeing a unicorn."

"Why would there need to be a therapist who specialized in people who just saw a unicorn?" Stan asked.

"Because unicorns are terrible," Ford said simply. "You'll see soon enough."

"So who did you have to ask to figure out how to defeat an army of zombies?" Stan asked.

Ford gave him a sharp look. "Stan, I don't mention anything about the undead until my third journal. Which is safely hidden. How do you know about-"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Like we live in a world with unicorns but not zombies. I refuse to believe it. My very manliness depends on it. And I just figure that if there were zombies anywhere they'd be in this weirdo town and so you'd have a way to deal with it."

Ford gave him an inscrutable look. "You assume that if there was a problem that I'd know how to deal with it?"

Stan shrugged. "Or figure it out, yeah."

Ford laughed bitterly. "Were that that were so."

Stan crossed his arms. "Look, if you're talking about Bill-"

"That's a pretty big problem," Ford interrupted.

"Yeah, sure, but then what do you call what we're doing right now?"

"A fool's errand. You don't know unicorns."

"We'll succeed. Just watch. Or what about you putting the metal in your head to begin with?"

"Desperation that might have gotten me killed or left me brain damaged."

"But it didn't. How about calling me out here in the first place?" Stan pressed.

"That did not even accomplish my objective," Ford said.

"Yeah but now you're not alone in this so I'd call it a win. And you're going to dismantle the portal and then things will be _fine_."

"Bill's still out there."

"And he can't control you and he won't be able to touch the shack and I won't make a deal," Stan countered. "And since he has to possess people and doesn't actually exist in our dimension, there's only so much he can even do. I mean, you're probably not ever going to get a good night's sleep again but that's not on the same scale as the end of the world."

" _If_ we can pull this off," Ford said, sounding dubious. "And you called it the shack again."

Stan shrugged. "That's just how I think about it."

"It's just a little rude to call my house a shack. It's a very nice house."

"I agree," Stan said. "I'm pretty fond of it, too. Just ignore the negative, uh, what is it that makes it shack sound like a bad word."

"Connotations," Ford said. "Say I do. Why do you keep thinking of it as a shack?"

"It reminds me of another place I knew," Stan said reluctantly. "Though this is in far better shape. The Mystery Shack."

Ford wrinkled his nose. "Is that one of those fake tourist trap kind of places that eschews really paranormal things in favor of gluing antlers on fish and things like that?"

"Actually, that would make a _great_ attr-I mean, yes. Yes it was."

"I hate those kinds of places."

Stan sighed. "I know. But come on, you didn't tell me about the zombies. You did figure out how to beat zombies, right? Please tell me you did."

Was it a miracle or did Ford just smile at him?

"Yes, Stan, I do know how to stop the undead."

Stan waited but Ford seemed to be finished. He may be the Author but the man clearly knew nothing about storytelling. "And? Don't hold out on me!"

"We had been trying to raise the dead," Ford explained. No need to ask who 'he' was. "But we were, uh, perhaps not fully prepared for it. And there wasn't time to sit down and plan it out. Fortunately, it was karaoke night at the local bar."

Stan stared at him, a grin on his face. "You're kidding."

Ford shook his head. "I wish I could say that I was. But how else does one discover you need a perfect part harmony to stop them? I'm just lucky the singers had some talent."

"Wow. That's amazing, Ford," Stan said.

Ford looked taken aback. "You think so?"

"Of course! You figured out how to raise the dead and then stop it? Maybe I don't support creating zombies but at least you figured out how to stop it."

Ford gave him a small, pleased smile. "Well, I do what I can."

"No need to be modest. You do a lot more than that. And now you're about to summon a freaking unicorn!" It made him a little sad just how little it took to make Ford happy, even with someone he still clearly didn't want around. If he hadn't realized how lonely and isolated Ford was, before…

Ford, still smiling a little, stepped forward, flipped through his journal, and started chanting.

Nothing happened for a moment, a moment in which Stan felt the absence of Mabel keenly, before the ground started shaking and giant circle thing came shooting out of the ground.

"Now be careful," Ford cautioned as they pushed through the door. "Unicorns are…frustrating."

Stan nodded though he hadn't gotten enough information about Mabel's trip to see the unicorns to know what he was in for.

He saw a beautiful white horse with a rainbow mane, eyes so big it kind of freaked him out, and a horn. "So that's a unicorn."

"That's a unicorn," Ford confirmed, sounding a bit needlessly grim. He slipped off his shoes and gestured for Stan to do the same. "No need to make this harder than it has to be."

Stan reluctantly took off his shoes and followed his brother to the unicorn.

"Greetings, humans," the unicorn said. Oh, God, her voice was annoying. "I am Celestabellebethabelle."

He snorted. "Yeah, there is no way I'm remembering that."

Ford elbowed him in the stomach. "We need some of your hair. It's important."

"Why, of course!" she said, drawing the last word out. "As long as you are pure of heart."

"What now?" Stan asked skeptically. Though that did sound sort of familiar.

Ford was standing closer so it was his chest that began to glow.

Celestawhatever reared back on her hind legs in horror. "Your heart is not pure! Wrong! This is all wrong!"

Ford sent a strangely guilty look Stan's way. "Yes, I know that, but-"

The unicorn peered loser at Ford. "Oh, but I've met you before, haven't I?"

Ford met her gaze evenly. "You have."

"Your heart is not pure at all! So very wicked!" the unicorn cried out, looking like she was pained by whatever she had seen in Ford's heart.

To Stan, this sounded like a load of bunk. Pure of heart? Nobody was pure of heart. They weren't Disney princesses; they were real people.

But Ford looked upset and, coincidentally, Stan wanted to beat the crap out of this unicorn.

"I know that," Ford said again. "But-"

"I'm sorry," the unicorn said, not sounding at all sorry. "But those are the rules. No pure heart, no hair. Now unless your friend wants to see what their heart looks like, you can both leave."

"Stan?" Ford asked.

He laughed. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me."

Ford's shoulders slumped. "Well, we tried."

"Is that _it_?" Stan couldn't believe it. But no wonder Ford hadn't had any faith in this plan if he was willing to just let one unicorn send him packing after two minutes.

"I will not give you any hair," the unicorn repeated. "And, unfortunately for you, I am the last of my kind."

"Yeah, whatever."

The unicorn drew back warily. "What are you suggesting? I'm starting to see why you didn't want to test your heart."

"Stanley, we're not going to change her mind," Ford said. "Let's just go."

"We don't have to convince her," Stan assured him.

"What was that?" the unicorn asked, lowering her horn threateningly. Like Stan had any intention in losing to an armed horse.

"Have you _ever_ actually met someone 'pure of heart'?" Stan demanded. "Oh, wow, I had a bikini fantasy. Not so pure anymore. And even before that, that kid pushed his sister down. Bye-bye pure of heart. I mean, maybe you could have a pure of heart infant but they don't have much going on there. And I've met some shifty-eyed babies."

"What are you saying?" the unicorn asked.

"I'm saying this pure of heart racket is almost offensive," Stan said.

"Oh, finally, someone seeing through this," another unicorn said, wandering by. "It's so depressing watching all these mortals fall for it."

"Hey, what happened to 'last of my kind'?" Stan asked, not even surprised.

Ford's fists were clenched and shaking. "All this time…and it's not even true."

"Not even a little," the second unicorn said. "I don't know why C-Beth keeps doing this. We cannot and never have been able to detect 'heart purity', whatever that even means."

"Well, what do you expect?" the first unicorn whined. "Everyone always comes up to me demanding hair and I don't want to give it away. It's _mine_. But they just keep asking. They 'need it' because it's a 'matter of life and death.' And they already come in believing the pure of heart thing. It makes them go away a lot sooner than just saying no."

"And I'm sure you made a bunch of people feel like crap," Stan said angrily. Had Mabel been told this? Did it hurt her? "They didn't deserve it."

"It's not my problem," the unicorn said indifferently.

"We're not leaving without that hair," Ford said firmly.

"I'm not going to give it to you just because you know the truth," the unicorn said.

Stan put on his brass knuckles. "I think we're willing to just take it."

* * *

When they returned to the Shack, they were laughing. Ford was carrying the blood he needed and Stan had the chest of gold and jewels the unicorns gave them to go away. That should come in handy.

Stan dropped the chest off inside then came back out to watch a protective barrier forming around the place. He did have to admit that he felt safer seeing it.

"That was so much more fun than I expected!" Ford said, still exhilarated.

"Yeah, I can see why if you had to deal with _that_ ," Stan said.

"I can't believe we beat up a bunch of unicorns," Ford said, shaking his head. "I cannot even believe it."

"Yeah, it's one for the scrapbooks alright," Stan said. It was a first for him, too, even if he'd also beaten up a pterodactyl and zombie horde. "Was that your first fight in a while?"

"You know what?" Ford asked rhetorically. "It was, actually."

"Well you did pretty well for being so out of practice," Stan said.

"I take it you're less out of practice?"

"I wouldn't know who I was if I didn't get into at least a fight a week."

"I always knew that unicorns were frustrating," Ford said, going over to sit on the porch. "But I never thought they were cruel."

Stan sat down next to him. "You, uh, met her before and she said you didn't have a pure heart."

"She did say that to everyone apparently."

"And you believed her," Stan continued.

" _You_ believed her and she didn't even tell you you didn't have a pure heart," Ford countered.

"Yeah but I don't accept purity of heart as a premise," Stan said. "And it didn't bother me. But I sort of got the feeling it might have bothered you."

"Yeah, well…" Ford trailed off.

Stan waited for him to go on.

"It's difficult, starting with a new species. Especially species I've heard of before. The multi-bear? What do _you_ know about the multi-bear?"

He knew it liked Baba, was deemed too embarrassing to live by the manotaurs, and used all the toilet paper during Weirdmageddon.

"I don't know, there are multiple bars in one?"

"It does have many heads," Ford said. "But that's pretty much it. What do you think you know about ghosts?"

"Translucent, dead people, haunt stuff?" Stan offered. "Any of that off? Be warned, you may upset my entire worldview."

"No, that sounds right," Ford said. "And I'm not just saying that to avoid you having a breakdown."

"Thanks. I think."

"I went into this believing unicorns could detect the purity of a person's heart. I wrote it in my journal. And now I'm going to correct that."

"And it seems like you accepted that you weren't pure of heart pretty easily."

Ford snorted. "Can you blame me?"

"Well, you're a person not a saint, true, but you're not especially impure."

"Are you kidding? Stanley, I trusted a demon and could destroy the world."

"And it was an accident and you only had the best intentions," Stan argued.

"The road to hell…" Ford trailed off.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Don't sit there spouting clichés at me. I didn't say good intentions can't lead to bad ends. But good intentions aren't impure. That's why they're called good intentions. And did you even know Bill back then in journal one?"

"Well, no."

"So logically he can't have had anything to do with it back then, right? So why did you believe it?"

"I told you, I accepted they could so if they said it then I believed it."

Stan shook his head, unsure of why he was pushing. It was a gut feeling more than anything. "That's not good enough. Don't unicorns also have some myth about only showing up for a virgin? I don't know about you but that hasn't been true about me since high school. If I'd believed I had to be a virgin to see a unicorn then saw a unicorn, I'd accept that the myth was wrong. I wouldn't suddenly decide that I must be a virgin after all! But you believed you weren't pure of heart. And you accepted that purity was attainable."

"That's not exactly the same thing," Ford protested. "Virginity, while a social construct, is something you can objectively know about yourself."

"Unless you're one of those people who can't make up their mind about oral," Stan muttered.

"There's no objective way to measure heart purity. I had to take her word for it."

"So why did you?" Stan demanded. "Come on, Ford, why pre-Bill were you willing to believe that?"

"Because of you, alright?"

Stan froze. That could mean any number of things. He made himself breathe. "Come again?"

"It wasn't my fault, what happened to you," Ford said firmly. "I won't take responsibility for what Dad did."

"Nobody's asking you to," Stan said, praying they weren't about to really get into it. He wasn't ready. Not yet.

"But I turned my back. I watched it happen and said nothing. It took me some time to find you a few weeks ago but I did it. I didn't even try before I needed you. I certainly hadn't tried back then."

"Is that an apology?" Stan asked uncertainly.

"I don't know. But I must have been such an easy mark. She told me I wasn't pure of heart and I immediately thought of you. I didn't even argue. And I still didn't try."

Stan wasn't sure what to say. A lifetime of caring for and missing his brother rebelled against the idea of Ford feeling guilty, especially because of him. But there had been a lot of resentment there for a long time, too, and that wasn't so easy to let go of. This Ford was carrying around so much resentment, too, even if it was nothing compared to the baggage the Ford he'd reunited with was carrying. But Stan was thirty years older than this brother of his. He was supposed to know better.

Eventually, he settled on, "But she was full of it, wasn't she?"

Ford knocked their knees together. "Yeah, she was."

"And now we're safe. Or as safe as we can be here."

"Thank you," Ford said, "for that."

Stan tapped down his immediate instinct to tease Ford about actually thanking him for something. That would only get his brother's defenses up.

"Hey, it was all your research that told us how to protect this place and gave us the means to do it."

"And you made me try and saw through her lies," Ford countered. "So just…take the compliment."

He couldn't resist. "Don't tell me what to do."

Ford chuckled and it occurred to Stan that they were actually having an honest-to-God _moment_.


	5. Chapter 5

"Fiddleford!" Stan called loudly, waiting until he finished catching the eggs being thrown at him before he waved – after a fashion – to the still sane-looking Young Man McGucket.

Fiddleford eyed the eggs in Stan's hands warily before pushing his cart over. "Stan Pines."

"Oh, you still remember me?" Stan asked. He wasn't entirely sure what was he doing here. Not knocking Ford into the portal was easy. Just being around and trying to be supportive was miles better than whatever was on the other side of the portal or even just being alone before Stan had arrived. But Fiddleford? An inability to deal with what he saw and a developing addiction to memory erasure? Was he just wasting his time? He couldn't know. But he couldn't just stand to the side and wait to read about the accident in the local paper. He'd never forgive himself and neither would Ford if he knew.

"You did threaten me if I didn't," Fiddleford pointed out.

Stan laughed nervously. "Don't phrase it like that! You make it sound like I was going to stab you or something."

"Maybe in your violent-sounding world," Fiddleford said. "In my world, saying can you will do something negative if I do or don't do something is a threat."

Stan laughed. "In my 'violent-sounding world.' Yeah, don't pretend you're some pinnacle of normality when you've founded a mind-rape cult."

"A-A what?" Fiddleford sounded stricken. "Never mind, I'm sure I don't want to know. Are we going to talk about this again?"

"I'm sorry, would you prefer to discuss the weather?" Stan asked politely.

Fiddleford just sighed. "Just let me pay for these."

Stan nodded. "I'll meet you outside."

Fiddleford gave him a strange look when he came up to him outside. "I didn't see you in line."

"Oh, I shoplifted everything," Stan said casually. "It was extremely easy."

"You shouldn't take advantage of people just because they're trusting," Fiddleford said reprovingly.

"People around here are too naïve for it to make sense that they actually live in such a death trap of a town," Stan said dismissively. "Besides, I didn't have much money when I came up here and, for various reasons, I haven't really been able to broach the issue of my brother's grant or if he's been keeping up with that with these latest…complications." Of course there was still that unicorn treasure but that was earmarked for a rainy day.

"Stanford," Fiddleford said quietly, beginning to walk.

Stan shrugged and fell into step beside him.

"Did it help? What I told you?" Fiddleford was carefully not looking at him.

"It did," Stan said. "Thank you. I got him to tell me about Bill. We managed to Bill-proof the Shack and Ford dismantled the portal. I think we're as safe as we're going to be. I think he might have actually slept through the night last night. Or at least I didn't hear him moving about at all hours for once."

A weight seemed to lift off of him. "That's-that's good. I don't blame Ford for not telling me himself but I am glad to know nonetheless."

"So…I see you haven't forgotten Bill yet," Stan said.

"I haven't dared to. I may have erased much of what I know about him, I can't be sure, but the fact he's out there and wants to destroy us? I _can't_."

"Now that whatever it was you saw on the other side is safely locked away and there's no real way the world will be threatened by what you and Ford did again, are you still going to feel the need to erase everything you see?" Stan asked. "And to force this on others?"

"I told you, Stan, they want it," Fiddleford said.

Stan laughed darkly. "Oh, I've heard that before. 'Oh no, I swear she wanted it.'"

Fiddleford colored. "Please tell me that you did not just compare what I'm doing – _helping people_ – with-with…"

"I'm just saying, you clearly haven't heard the justifications some people use," Stan shot back. "But fine. I don't know if that's the right word anyway. But it is a violation and if you take people minutes after they see something and while they're still freaking out and erase their memory, you rob them of the chance to adjust or to make the kind of calm, rational choice you must have made when you built that gun in the first place."

"And just how are we supposed to keep it a secret if we let them call all their friends?"

"Not only does the supernatural seem like kind of an open secret but they clearly kept it pretty quiet before you," Stan countered.

Fiddleford sighed. "Stan, I don't want to talk about this."

"I know. But if you're not talking to Ford and the only other people who know about this are your disciples I think you at least need to hear a dissenting opinion," Stan said.

"And I told you, I'm thinking about it," Fiddleford said. "You make good points but I've been so affected by what I've seen that it would be absurd to think that I was the only one."

"No but you're taking whatever you saw in some hellscape and comparing it to people running into gnomes. What you saw may make it harder for you to see anything paranormal but you were clearly fine living with normal Gravity Falls weirdness before. It's not the same."

Fiddleford shook his head. "But even then I was able to see a gnome and not panic. I have seen people panic at that same thing and presumably they've never gone anywhere near the portal."

Stan rolled his eyes. "While that may be true, if they live in Gravity Falls they need to get over it. Surely you can see the potential for abuse."

"I do," Fiddleford reluctantly conceded. "But I trust the people that I've chosen."

"Yeah but should you?" Stan challenged. "I don't know who is there. Maybe you did choose well. But there's old saying about absolute power. They have the power to erase anything from anyone's mind except Ford's but he doesn't get out enough for it to matter. Every fight or mistake. An idea they should have thought of. They could do anything they ever wanted to but never did because it's unacceptable in society and just…poof! It's like it never happened. Except it did."

"And even if my people are good, what about the future? In three generations how can I control what the society becomes?" Fiddleford asked quietly. "I'll be long gone. And if I keep erasing my own memories how long before I forget too much and can't guide the society anymore?"

Stan raised his eyebrows, surprised. "So you have thought about it."

"Of course I have," Fiddleford said. "I don't know what you think of me, Stanley, but I'm doing the best I can. This isn't perfect but I have to believe the need for it outweighs the risk."

What did Stan think? He looked at Fiddleford and he saw Ford. He saw a tragedy waiting to happen.

"You haven't told me you'll stop erasing your memories," Stan said after a long moment.

"I'd rather not lie to you," Fiddleford said. "Since it seems I have nothing else I need to conceal."

"Fiddleford-"

Fiddleford held up a hand to forestall Stan's objections. "Don't you think I know? Right now, I don't plan to forget anything else I know. I don't intend to forget you or Bill or even what's left Stanford. But I can't swear that I won't."

"You need help."

"What help? From who? You think a therapist would know what to do with any of this?" He sounded almost hysterical.

"I am worried about you."

Fiddleford smiled dimly. "Might as well be someone who is."

After a few minutes of silence, Fiddleford looked better so Stan ventured, "Ford told me what happened the last time you saw him."

Fiddleford moved his bags to one arm so he could adjust his collar awkwardly. "Oh. Did he?"

"You know, I've got to ask. Consensual, you said. Ford would rather burn then forget a single fucking though."

"Yeah," Fiddleford said distractedly. "I know."

"Why? He's your friend!"

"I doubt that's how he sees it," Fiddleford said delicately. "Normally that's not how I work but…Ford was a special case."

"He always is," Stan said. He knew he sounded fond despite himself. "What happened?"

"You said he told you about Bill. So you must know that the only reason that any of us are in any danger at all is because he summoned Bill in the first place. He let that thing take over his mind and he gave him _everything_ and he built the portal. I-I helped, I know, but I trusted him. He took his orders directly from Bill."

"You know that that was an accident," Stan objected.

"And that makes it better?" Fiddleford laughed bitterly. "That will save us when the end comes?"

"I told you, the end's not coming, not anytime soon," Stan said. And if it did, they'd find a way to deal with it. No Dipper and Mabel here to help save the day but he knew the parts they'd played and they'd just have to work something out. They'd done it once before. "Bill can't get in the house and the portal is gone anyway. Ford's not going to rebuild it and he knows better than to fall for one of Bill's tricks again."

"That's great," Fiddleford said. "It really is. It's also a more recent development probably spurred on by you if what I'd seen before you arrived is any indication. I'm glad we're safer. But Ford didn't show _any_ indication of being willing to take that portal down before."

"Well of course not," Stan said. "It was dangerous and he was worried about being interrupted by Bill or one of his minions and accidentally causing a rift in time and space. Tell me how erasing Ford's memory of any of this would have done any of us any favors."

"I would have dismantled the portal," Fiddleford said. "I'm not so irresponsible as to believe that Ford forgetting would solve everything when that was still up and running in the basement. He might even rediscover it and not know the dangers. I know enough to know how to do that, at least. Or…I did. I must have. This was some time ago and once I realized Ford couldn't have his memory erased what was the point in keeping knowledge that was only making me miserable?"

"In case it was needed?" Stan asked rhetorically. "In case all the memory erasure costs you something you didn't mean to forget? In case the side effects are worse than you thought? Pick a reason."

"There's no point trying to talk me out of something already long done," Fiddleford pointed out.

"Maybe not but I'm trying to talk you out of it in the future," Stan said. "I get why you think Ford is responsible for all of this. And, well, he's not. It's clearly Bill. But Ford did play his part. Manipulated and betrayed and lied to or not, you're not wrong when you say he was a part of it. So maybe if you had erased his memory the first time he came home talking about Bill things would be different. But what good does erasing his memory now do? Is it a punishment or something? Wouldn't erasing his memory only make him vulnerable to Bill once again? He managed to fool my brother once, it stands to reason that if Ford doesn't know what he is he could fool him again."

"I was hoping that the fact that he wouldn't remember this strange entity who can possess him and who, if he didn't realize the amnesia right away, would be cruel would be enough to make him distrust him," Fiddleford said. "He said he found a way to keep Bill out in which case it wouldn't matter."

"He did," Stan confirmed. "He put a metal fucking plate in his head."

Fiddleford absorbed that. "Never let it be said that brother of yours does anything by halves. And no, it wasn't about _punishment_. Yes he knew that Bill was bad news now but the portal was still activated and, given his rather stunning history of bad judgment, I didn't trust him with that knowledge. And yes, before you say anything, I had bad judgment, too. I went along with it and I _knew_ I shouldn't have. I knew Bill was a problem long before Ford would even entertain the notion. But I wasn't about to start up any new dangerous scientific work but I think we both know it's only a matter of time before Ford does. It's who he is. He can't help himself. And maybe it'll all work out fine or maybe he'll only get himself killed and not take the world down with him but when the stakes are that high, can you really blame me for trying to protect the many by sacrificing the one?"

"Of course I can," Stan said bluntly. "He's my brother."

Fiddleford shook his head impatiently. "You have no grasp of the bigger picture."

"I hate it when you science types always do that," Stan countered.

"Do what?"

"Treat disagreeing as not understanding. And as long as you're justifying doing something terrible for the greater good, you've got no business convincing me you wouldn't do that same terrible thing to other people if you thought it was for the best. I'm less convinced than ever about this mission of yours to save the people of Gravity Falls from their own memories."

They continued in silence for a while.

"I know that you don't trust it," Fiddleford said finally. "But then you've never experienced it. And, no matter the terrible things you've seen, you've never been pushed far enough to need to forget. I don't think it's fair to judge others for not being as strong as that."

"I think it's perfectly fair to judge them for not _trying_."

Fiddleford smiled sadly. "You think I haven't tried? No one just wakes up and decides to build a memory gun they're going to test on themselves. If you had experienced memory erasure you might understand."

"If I even knew about it," Stan said. "From what I understand, your victims usually don't."

"They are not my…don't call them that!"

Stan shrugged. "Hey, I just call it like I see it. But fine. It's just a word. It doesn't change what it is. Say I did remember that I'd had something erased. I wouldn't thank you for it. I wouldn't know why it was done so I'd just drive myself crazy wondering what it was. I always need a reason to ignore what's right in front of me and if I couldn't remember then I wouldn't have one."

"Unless you remember that you didn't dare close your eyes at night because of what you saw. Unless you remember that you flinch at every shadow. Unless you remember how you couldn't even go out in public because being around people was just too much and how could they not know and what if they did and what if, oh God, they're one of _them_? Unless you wonder how anyone could possibly be that oblivious and they must be a part of some conspiracy or really just want to forget as much as you think that they do."

"You saw a hellscape. They see mermaids and eye-bats," Stan said. "Look, I know you don't think you could tell a therapist everything you saw without them thinking you're having hallucinations but I'm sure you could make up something and still talk about how it's making you feel. Though I have heard there's a therapist who specializes in those who have to deal with unicorns so I don't know much experience they have with actual trauma or addiction or whatever but at least they wouldn't think that you're crazy."

"I don't need a therapist to help with what I've seen," Fiddleford said. "I've unseen it."

"You don't remember it," Stan corrected. "That's not the same thing."

"It's just about. And you're spending so much time focusing on the severity of experiences. It's like, using your therapist example, saying that I'm the guy who watched his parents get murdered in front of him so it makes sense that I get therapy. If Toby's problem is the fact that he's so ugly he has never had a single chance at a date and likely never will he should just tough it out because that's a problem but it's not witnessing your parents' murder kind of a problem."

"That's not it," Stan said. "Toby likely can't go anywhere and find people less repulsed by what he looks like. He is just one very freakishly ugly man. But he could, if he had such a problem with weirdness, move like twenty miles away and have no more problems. It's very easy. You could move, too."

"I can't. I have to try and help these people."

"You ever think about succeeding?" Stan muttered to himself.

"You say that you don't think this will help anybody. Well I'm living proof it's helped at least one person. It's helped _me_. Maybe not everyone needs it. Maybe you don't. From the sounds of it, maybe Ford is better off now that you're here and he's not facing this alone. But you don't get to just decide that no one else has benefited from this at all."

"Of course people feel better for not going through something painful," Stan said. "After someone you care about dies, you'd be so much happier in the days that follow if you just forgot them entirely. It doesn't mean that forgetting helped you or you're better off."

"No one's forgetting loved ones here, Stan, and I'm not suggesting that they do," Fiddleford argued. "Just trauma, plain and simple."

"Trauma in the form of slightly unusual beings you'd find in a PG-13 movie."

"What?"

Was PG-13 not a thing in 1982?

"You know, suitable for young teenagers."

"There you go, judging people for not living up to your standards of mental fortitude."

"There I go, having faith that these people have been dealing with the occasional manotaur siding for years and they'll continue to do it without you making these decisions for them. Have you really noticed people better off and less distressed since you started this?" Stan demanded.

"When they stop screaming long enough to go home, confused but happy? Yes."

"But that's in the immediate aftereffect and before they deal with it or rationalize it away," Stan pointed out. "Which you know they're quite skilled at even without your help. And you know it's getting out of hand in your case."

"Perhaps," Fiddleford said. At least he didn't bother denying it. At least that. "But I told you earlier, I do believe in sacrificing the one for the sake of the many. I meant it about Ford and I mean it about me. I'm not a hypocrite."

"And neither am I," Stan said. "I don't believe in that and I won't accept it for you."

"You can't save me. I don't need to be saved."

"Ah, well those are two very different things," Stan said. "I happen to disagree. As for who's right, I guess we'll just have to figure that out. Not that you'll get bragging rights if you are so don't even think of sabotaging me out of spite."

"You're a very strange person," Fiddleford told him.

"I keep getting that from Ford, too," Stan replied. "I don't quite know what it says that I'm here in what may be the weirdest town in existence dealing with people with no common sense and far too much brains who live out some sort of weird sci-fi nightmare and suddenly _I'm_ the weird one."

"I think I do," Fiddleford said quietly. "Of course you don't understand this. You're all fantasy, Don Quixote tilting at windmills."

"Don Quixote, huh?" Stan asked rhetorically. "Well, what can I say? I always liked the play better."


	6. Chapter 6

"Stan, we are wasting time," Ford complained.

"Agree to disagree," Stan said cheerfully as he slid into the booth at the diner.

Looking far more put-out than Stan felt _breakfast_ really warranted, Ford followed suit.

"Why do we need to have breakfast in town?"

"Because I'm reasonably sure that some people don't believe that I'm your twin brother and think I'm just pretending not to be you," Stan said. "And, to be fair, that's not as farfetched as you'd think. You really don't get out enough."

"Why would anyone even do that?" Ford asked, mystified.

Stan shrugged. "Tax evasion? Who knows? Why have I been here for two weeks and already am much better known by the town than you when you've been here for six years?"

"The townspeople don't matter," Ford said.

Stan laughed. "Wow, Ford. Maybe it is for the best you never talk to people if you're going to say things like that."

"I wouldn't say that to anyone's face," Ford said, looking almost affronted.

"Talking behind their backs, huh? That's better."

Susan came over then with their menus. So hard not to think of her as Lazy Susan even though both of her eyes were fine. "Oh, _hello_. What's this?"

Stan smiled at her. "Hi, Susan. This is my brother, Stanford. He's lived here for six years."

"Thank you for that," Ford said.

Susan's eyes widened. "Oh? You're that mysterious scientist who does all those spooky experiments at all hours!"

"There's nothing spooky about my work," Ford protested. "I live in the middle of the words. Why do people know these things?"

"It's a small town," Susan explained. "Not much happens here."

The look on Ford's face made him laugh out loud.

"Did I say something funny?" Susan wondered.

Ford sighed.

"Ford leads a much more exciting life than we do," Stan explained. "It's all the science."

"Oh, I see," Susan said.

"I'll have the pancakes," Ford said pointedly.

"Huh? Oh, right, right. And what would you like, Stanley?" Susan asked.

Stan shrugged. "How about pancakes, too? Why not?"

Susan nodded and left.

"This was a terrible idea," Ford told him.

Stan didn't get a chance to reply as Toby Determined walked up to them. "Look! It's a clone!"

"I'm not a clone," Stan told him.

Toby rolled his eyes. "I know that _you're_ not a clone, Stan. What do you take me for?"

"I've been here six years longer than him," Ford protested.

"Then why is this the first time I've ever seen you?" Toby challenged.

Stan smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"You're exaggerating," Ford said. "I don't get out much but you have to have seen me in passing. And who are you, anyway?"

"The real Stan knows who I am," Toby said.

"I'm not Stan. I'm Ford."

"He's Stanford," Stan said helpfully.

Ford glared at him.

"What?" Stan asked innocently. "Ford's my twin brother. And Ford, this is Toby Determined. He writes for the paper."

"It's such an exciting industry to be in," Toby said proudly.

Stan winced. "You are not going to do very well when we switch to video journalism. Maybe brush up on your writing skills?"

"I don't know what you mean but you're probably right," Toby said, sighing deeply.

"What do you want?" Ford asked. "Do you believe I'm not a clone yet?"

"I don't know," Toby said. "I'll need to look into this more."

"Please don't," Stan said. "And you know me! I met everyone in town right after I got here. How could I possibly be the guy who literally no one knows after having spent six years here?"

Little Tyler broke away from his mother and ran up to them.

"Are you the mystery men?" he asked excitedly.

"I will answer to Mr. Mystery, yes," Stan said. "Why?"

"I rode by your house a couple of months ago," Tyler said excitedly.

"This is Tyler Cutebiker," Stan explained. "Tyler, my twin brother who is absolutely not a clone, Ford."

"It's, uh, nice to meet you," Ford said, reaching over to shake Tyler's hand.

Tyler's face lit up. "Six fingers! That is so neat!"

"He gets enthusiastic about things," Stan explained.

"And…now the whole diner heard that," Ford said unhappily.

"Ford, we live in a town that does a better job of ignoring the supernatural than Sunnydale. No one's going to say anything and if they do I'm going to punch them in the face," Stan said. He raised his voice. "Parents be warned, I make no exception."

"When I rode past your house the lights got all weird! I thought you were bringing Frankenstein back to life!"

Ford's mouth tightened. "Well, I wasn't. And Frankenstein was the name of the scientist and not the monster anyway."

"Oh," Tyler said. "Do you think I could come visit your house?"

"That's a great idea!" Toby said. "You should give tours. Do you give tours? Why don't I know if you give tours? I'm supposed to be a reporter."

Stan perked up.

" _No_ ," Ford said firmly. "My house is not open to the public. Why would it be?"

"Because you have all sorts of weird things going on there," Toby explained. "That sounds fascinating. We all want to know."

"If any of you have any interest in the unusual, which I don't believe is true for a second, then there is literally a faun visible from this very window," Ford said, gesturing.

No one looked out the window.

"That's different," Tyler said. "If it's around here then it's not unusual, right?"

" _I'm_ around here," Ford argued.

"But we don't ever see you so you might as well not be," Tyler reasoned. "Oh, please let us see your house!"

"I'll tell you what," Stan said. "Right now the house is not open for visitors."

"It will never be open for visitors."

"If that changes, I'll make sure to spread the word, alright?"

"It is never ever going to change," Ford insisted.

Looking disappointed, Tyler and Toby went back to their seats.

"I wish you hadn't given them hope that that might change, Stan," Ford said.

"I'd like to think it's not false hope," Stan said.

"Well it is," Ford said. "I'm not giving tours."

"I would absolutely be willing to give tours," Stan said.

"It's too dangerous to have people traipsing around my house!" Ford exclaimed. "Tate almost died last year and I really feel it's gotten less child-friendly since then as no children actually come to my house anymore. What do I know about children? Not to mention that it would only be an inconveniencing invasion of privacy."

"I'm just saying, you could probably get them to fork over a boatload of cash for the privilege."

"And then they'd all demand refunds when my house isn't that interesting," Ford said.

"I don't give refunds," Stan said immediately.

"And I don't give tours. No refunds equals us getting angry townspeople," Ford said. "How would that be something we want?"

"It's all about presentation," Stan said. "Giving the people what they want."

Ford frowned at him. "Now it sounds like you want to open up some sort of tourist trap."

"Well…" Stan said slowly. "I don't _not_ want to open one."

"No."

"But-"

"I can't even believe you," Ford complained. "What makes you think I'd be okay with that?"

"The fact that I don't even really get why you think it's such a bad idea," Stan said. "I've done something like this before and, let me tell you, if you do it right you can make a _killing_."

"Why do you even need money?" Ford asked. "Didn't you 'make a killing' from those unicorns?"

Stan stared at him. "What, I should go beat up a unicorn every time I need money?"

"You could get a job," Ford suggested. "I don't know what your resume looks like-"

Stan snorted at the very thought.

"Bu I'm sure you could get a job here in Gravity Falls," Ford said.

Stan raised an eyebrow. "You want me to stick around?"

"More like growing resigned to it."

"What about you?" Stan asked.

"What _about_ me?" Ford asked, blinking at him.

"I know you've been dealing with all this crazy shit," Stan said. "Have you, you know, kept up with your grants and stuff?"

"I do have a deadline coming up in a few weeks," Ford admitted. "I haven't really had a chance to look into it yet."

"You should do that," Stan said. "Because I'm warning you now, if you lose funding I'll be forced to open the Mystery Shack up again."

"It's not like you don't clearly already think of my house that way," Ford said. "Tell me this. If you did open it up, would you actually put real things in there? Like gnomes or eye-bats?"

"I _could_ ," Stan hedged.

"That sounds like a 'no'," Ford pointed out.

"It's just…okay. I've done this kind of thing for years," Stan said. "I'm a bit of an expert. Most people are smart enough to know that tourist traps are all faked. Some morons believe it and you silently judge them. But the thing is, it's ironically easier to convince them of a fake attraction than the real thing."

"That doesn't make any sense, Stan."

"It does, though," Stan argued. "If something's fake you can craft it however you want to to get someone to believe it. And the more outrageous the attraction, the more people buy it. Almost like they can't believe you'd put a kid in a lame wolf costume and sell him as a werewolf or whatever that was. If it's real, you just have to put it out there whether it's believable or not. I've worked with some people who just get so frustrated by the fact that the public prefers frauds."

Dipper and Mabel had once driven two people mad trying to have a real attraction and that _still_ didn't teach them.

"That just spits in the face of everything I've ever believed or tried to do, though," Ford protested. "All my life, all the strangeness, the anomalies…you know why that matters to me. And to have it all shoved aside for fakes? It might as well be a freak show. The bearded lady. The blue man. The-" He cut himself off.

Stan knew what he meant. "There's a big difference between the Loch Ness Monster and an extra finger, Stanford. You know that I would never…you know it's not the same."

"I know," Ford admitted. "But-"

Something caught Stan's eye. "Hold that thought."

He shot up and hurried to the door. Ford wouldn't be able to see unless he turned around to watch what Stan was up to. But Fiddleford McGucket had just walked into the diner and this may be the only chance to get those two idiots to talk to each other. He wasn't quite sure what good that would do but it would be hard to make Fiddleford's future worse than he remembered it being. And chances were that as long as he could keep Ford in this dimension his brother would be fine.

"Hey!" Stan said brightly, coming up to him and clapping him on the shoulder. "Do you still remember me?"

"Yes, Stanley," Fiddleford said, rolling his eyes. "Are you going to ask me that every time I see you?"

"No, just as long as I feel you forgetting my existence entirely is a valid possibility." Stan considered. "So, actually, maybe yes. It all depends on you, really."

"Believe it or not, though you keep arguing against everything I do, I don't find knowing you distressing," Fiddleford said.

Stan laughed. "Stan Pines: knowing him is not distressing. Nice! Hey, are you here by yourself?"

Fiddleford nodded. "Tate's back with his mother right now."

"Excellent! You can eat with me," Stan said, shepherding Fiddleford over to his table.

"Oh, but I- _oh_." Fiddleford stopped in front of the table, looking dumbstruck.

Ford was staring back at him, looking equally at a loss for words.

Stan took advantage of this off-balancedness to manhandle Fiddleford into the booth and sat next to him.

Ford found his voice first. "Stan, what are you doing?"

"I'm having breakfast with a friend," Stan said innocently.

"Are we friends?" Fiddleford asked.

"Yes we are," Stan said firmly.

"You're not big on personal autonomy, are you?" Fiddleford asked.

Stan laughed. "I can't even believe you asked me that."

Fiddleford sighed. "Well, I've had worse friends." He looked at Ford. "I, uh, hi."

"Hi," Ford echoed. "You're not going to try and kill me again?"

Fiddleford stiffened. "I never tried to kill you and you know it. I was just going to erase your memory of things that you aren't happy to remember anyway."

"It's my memories, my choice," Ford insisted. "And it all really depends on your definition of death, doesn't it?"

"Personally I define it as no heartbeat, no breathing," Stan said.

Ford ignored him. "What is death? What is life? Who are we? If you destroy what someone is, Fiddleford, what's left of them? If you take my memories, you're killing who I am."

"So…what, I'm committing suicide when I use it on myself?" Fiddleford demanded.

"I can't make that determination for you," Ford replied. "Just as you couldn't decide that for me."

"I won't apologize for trying to do what's right," Fiddleford told him, looking straight at him.

"To expect otherwise would be the height of folly," Ford agreed. "I may take issue with you deciding that doing that to me was right. I don't see you trying to do that to Stan. Or are you doing that to another friend against his will?"

"Oh, are we dragging me into this?" Stan asked, groaning. "Could we not do that?"

" _Stan's_ never destroyed the world because of his own selfish ambitions," Fiddleford countered.

"Hey, you don't know me. You don't know my life."

"Selfish?" Ford repeated, raising his voice.

Being called selfish was one surefire way to set him off. It was why they had started to really fight once upon a time in front of the portal. Stan was upset he came all that way only to not get the reunion he was hoping for and any chance Ford had of trying to calm him down, as messed up as he was, died when Stan uttered the 's' word.

Ford could be quite selfish at times. Who couldn't? Stan risked the world to save his brother and hadn't hesitated to rip nearly everyone in his life off. Mabel, sweet and generous though she was, had a tendency to put her own needs over the needs of others. He was pretty sure she was keeping a freed boy band in her room at one point. Dipper literally raised the dead and nearly got them all killed in order to be taken seriously. Soos wasted his time wish, the one the kids nearly died for, on infinite pizza, even if he did give it away, instead of turning down a reunion with his father and brainstorming a wish that was worth it. Fiddleford decided it was his right to play god and dictate who was allowed to remember what.

And then there was Ford. Never looking Stan up until he needed something, summoning a demon he was warned about for the sake of answers, refusing to burn his precious journals even though that was the most obvious way to protect the world from the portal.

And that was okay. People could be selfish. Everyone, _everyone_ , was at times. Ford wasn't the worst, not by a long shot. The problem was that Ford had never learned to accept that about himself. He always rejected the very idea.

"Selfish?" Ford asked again. "I wanted to help all of mankind! How is that selfish?"

"You built a portal that will destroy the world!"

"And then I took it down!"

"What about bringing Bill into our dimension in the first place?"

"I fixed that, too," Ford snapped. "I put a metal plate in my head. He can't control me anymore. And he can only plague my dreams when I'm not home."

"That's just cleaning up your mess," Ford accused.

"And what else am I supposed to do?" Ford threw his hands up in the air. "The past is immutable."

Actually, about that…

Stan cleared his throat loudly until they bothered to look at him.

"You guys have had this argument before, right?" he asked rhetorically. "You never got anywhere, did you? We can all agree Bill is bad news and we have to keep him from destroying the world. The portal is gone and we're as protected as we can be. You guys don't agree on how much of this is Ford's fault? It doesn't matter. It was a mistake and we fixed it. Should Fiddleford go around erasing people's memories, with or – especially – without their consent? Of course not. But that's something worth arguing about. But I've had this conversation with him more than once. We had it two days ago. He accused me of not being able to talk to him about anything else and I don't want to prove him right."

"Then why did you bring him over here?" Ford asked. "You know we haven't spoken since he tried to erase my memories."

"If I wanted to see him, I've had plenty of opportunities," Fiddleford pointed out.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you two live in the same pretty small town. He's one of the only people here who has ever had a conversation with you, let alone can call you a friend."

"He tried to erase my memory against my will," Ford reminded him.

"Yeah, I know, and it's a dick move," Stan agreed. "Of course, these choices weren't made in a vacuum and none of us know exactly what Fiddleford saw but if it was Bill's dimension and he wants to destroy us now…Well of course he's making bad decisions."

"I'm not making bad decisions," Fiddleford objected.

Stan just gave him a look and Fiddleford flushed.

"It didn't work and it won't, though, so it's in the past," Stan said. "You need to be able to talk to each other. And anytime you want to be less melodramatic and bring this down to a real level with real things that happen to real people that would be great."

"But…we are real people," Ford protested. "And that really did happen to us."

"I'm just saying, if I told anyone about this they'd think it was some sort of comic book."

Ford sighed with exaggerated patience. "Very well, Stanley, what would you like to discuss?"

"Unicorns," Stan said when that was the first thing to come into his mind. "Oh, but would that be too distressing? I don't want to continue that argument today."

"They're unicorns, Stan," Fiddleford said, unimpressed. "They're frustrating, not terrifying."

"I'm, uh, a little surprised you still remember that," Ford said awkwardly.

"Why wouldn't I?" Fiddleford challenged. "You don't find them distressing, do you?"

"Actually, I find them distressing on many levels," Ford said.

Susan came back with three plates of pancakes.

Ford and Fiddleford weren't paying any attention so Stan took the plates and placed them in front of them.

"I know he didn't order anything but I figure pancakes are good enough for everyone!" she said brightly.

Stan thanked her and she hurried off.

"It's harder to come across them unexpectedly when you need to go through so much to summon them," Fiddleford was saying. "I'd like to think I would react normally but…who knows? How would you react if you saw them again?"

Ford actually smiled and glanced at Stanley. "Somehow I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Oh?" Fiddleford asked curiously.

"My brother and I fought them," Ford said proudly. "We won."

"Why would you fight a unicorn?" Fiddleford asked.

"Why wouldn't we?" Stan asked. "Unicorns are the worst and they can't even detect heart purity. Not that they tell people that. Or at least Celestawhatever doesn't."

"I almost wish I could have been there for that," Fiddleford said wistfully.

"We could have used another pair of hands," Ford said after a moment. "And it's not like I was even armed."

Fiddleford glanced Stan's way.

Stan grinned. "I am literally always armed. And hey, are you going to eat or what?"

Ford looked down in surprise. "When did that get here?"

"I didn't even order…" Fiddleford muttered.

Well, it was a rocky start but it would only get harder the longer they went without talking. This was good for them, really.

And eventually they might even agree.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, Ford?" Stan asked.

Ford looked up from his book. "Hm?"

"When was the last time you called Ma? I don't think you've done it since I got here and that was three weeks ago."

"I guess not," Ford said. He leaned back in his chair. "I don't recall when the last time was. I don't think it was all that long ago but then I've been pretty busy. It's easy for these things to slip your mind."

"I know," Stan said guiltily. "I'm the same way. I don't know how long but it…it must have been awhile."

His mother had been dead for years. And he remembered that when he first reached out to her after assuming Ford's identity, just the sound of her voice was enough to bring him to tears.

"That's what happens when you grow up, I guess," Ford said, adjusting his glasses.

"Is it?" Stan asked. "I mean, sure, you move out and don't talk to your parents as much but I feel like we're taking it to the extreme. Neither of us knows when the last time we spoke to our own mother."

He couldn't explain to Ford why this mattered but the mother he remembered had never lived to see her sons make up. She had never heard from Ford again and believed she had never heard from Stan. They had to fix that.

"When was the last time you spoke to Dad?" Ford asked.

Stan snorted. A month from now, in another world, at his own funeral. "The night he kicked me out."

"It's been a little more recent than that for me," Ford said. "But surely that's not normal, either."

"I don't know. I think refusing to speak to someone who kicks you out of the house at seventeen is pretty normal," Stan said.

He told himself to be careful. They were teetering dangerously close to saying something that would spark a fight. And yes, sooner or later they needed to get it out of their system. But not yet. Not yet.

"No, that makes sense," Ford said. He hesitated. "You don't blame…Ma?"

"I can't blame her," Stan said. "She couldn't stop it. She tried. She's reached out to me dozens over times over the past ten years."

"I see," Ford said, inscrutable.

"So, I'm thinking, we should probably call her," Stan said. "She'll be glad to know I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere."

Ford looked awkward. "I'm sure she will be. And I know she'll be glad to know that we're talking."

Stan raised an eyebrow, sensing a story. "Oh?"

"She might not approve of us being estranged," Ford said.

"Huh. Did she really?" Stan asked rhetorically. "She never said anything like that to me."

"Well she more than made up for that oversight with me," Ford replied. "Even though I'm the one of us with a reliable phone number."

"She probably figured I was the one more likely to get burned if I tried," Stan said.

Ford didn't even deny it. Stan wouldn't have believed him if he had but Ford was usually painfully honest.

"But whatever. We're here now and we should call her and let her know," Stan said brightly.

Ford nodded and picked up the phone.

Stan walked over and leaned on the table.

Ford looked over at him. "Seriously, Stan?"

Stan just crossed his arms.

Ford sighed and dialed the number. Stan was aware that the phone was loud enough that he'd be able to hear what was being said on the other end.

The phone rang a couple times before it was answered with a gruff, "Pines residence."

Ford smiled tightly. "Hi, Dad. It's Ford." He glanced Stan's way.

Stan, for his part, was doing fine. Why wouldn't he be? Just because he hadn't heard the man's voice in thirty years did not mean anything. Just because the second-to-last time was when he had transformed from father to boogeyman and thrown him out into the street and objectively ruined his life (and sure, he accused Ford of that a few times but he knew whose fault it really was) did not mean anything. Just because last time he'd seen him, before the man's funeral which he certainly did not cry at, was his own funeral did not matter. Just because after the funeral his father had gotten drunk and cried about his regrets and how he was a terrible father and "poor Stanley" didn't matter.

The problem with his father was he never would admit to any of this until it was too late to do anyone any good. If he found out how Stan was turning his life around, he'd either think it was Stan leaning on Ford again or that his 'tough love' had finally paid off. One thing Stan knew better than to expect was a goddamn apology.

"Ford? You haven't called in a while," his father said.

"No, I guess not," Ford agreed. "I've been busy."

"Always so busy and not even making any money," his father complained. "I bet if you'd gone to West Coast Tech you'd have made millions by now."

Ford swallowed hard. "Dad, is Mom around?"

"Yeah," his father said. He shouted for her. "So have you considered turning your fancy degree to something a little more profitable than, what was it, monster hunting?"

"I'm happy where I am, Dad," Ford said firmly, sounding as if he'd had this conversation too many times.

"Well of course _you_ are," his father said. "You're still getting paid for that and refusing to share it."

Ford sighed. "Dad, I've tried to explain to you that that's not how grants work."

"Yeah, you did, but I just have to take your word for that, don't I?" his father asked. "Seems to me that if they give you money it's your money and they can't tell you how to spend it."

Ford was looking quite uncomfortable now.

For his part, Stan was trying to fight down the impulse to do something (probably yell at their father). Nothing good would come of his father learning he was here, he knew that, and he knew that Ford was more than capable of taking care of himself. Once, Ford had already been surviving hell for three weeks by now.

But, God help him, he still wanted to punch anything that put that look on Ford's face. The memory of him that night in 1972 had haunted him for a long time. That night in 1982 had remained with him even longer.

"Oh, here's your mother," his father said. "Think about what I said."

"Stanford?" his mother asked. "Is that you, honey?"

"Yeah, it's me, Ma," Ford said. He looked at Stan again. "I'm, uh, not by myself."

"Oh, Stanford, do you have a girlfriend?" his mother asked. She sounded so excited.

Stan tried not to snicker. He really did.

Ford did not appreciate his self-control and gave him a dirty look. "No, that's not it."

Stan leaned over closer to the phone. "It's me, Ma! I'm here."

"Stanley?" his mother asked, her voice breaking. "Is that you? There with your brother?"

Stan smiled gently. "Yeah, Ma, it's me."

Ford rolled his eyes and passed the phone over. Stan held it up near both of their heads, having to stoop a little because Ford would not just stand up like a normal person surely would have by now.

"I'm just so…I can't believe…how did it happen?" his mother said. "I was starting to give up hope that that would ever happen."

"I know the feeling," Stan said. "But, you know, I was off living my life and Ford sent me a postcard asking me to come. If he hadn't…well, I called him a few times but I never could work up the courage to say anything. So I guess it's a good thing he reached out to me."

Ford shot him a sharp look. "I didn't know that."

Stan shrugged awkwardly. "Well now you do."

"So you wanted Stanley to help you?" his mother asked. "After all these years and not speaking, you needed help and you turned to your brother."

"I was a great help," Stan said.

Ford snorted. "Are you kidding? You still didn't take the…Well, you didn't do what I wanted."

"I did what you _needed_ ," Stan insisted. "Let's not forget my part in protecting this place."

"No, that is true," Ford admitted. "But this wasn't exactly what I expected when I sent for you."

"After ten years, the fact that you had any sort of expectations really astonishes me," Stan replied.

"It sounds like you two have been together for a while," their mother noted.

"Three weeks now," Ford said. "Stan refu-Stan has decided that he's going to be staying with me for a while."

"And you're letting him?" she asked, sounding almost proud.

Ford cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, well, there didn't appear to have been anything else I could have done. I'm not leaving him with nothing but his car."

"He exaggerates," Stan said dismissively. "I've got a little more than that. It's just that when I got here he was really stressed out and I'm trying to help him take better care of himself. And I really missed him, you know? So I'm trying to spend some more time with him before we go our separate ways for the next thirty years."

"Don't be absurd, Stanley, we're not going to get separated for thirty years," Ford said.

"See?" Stan asked. "We're making great progress."

"And I take adequate care of myself," Ford said.

Stan started coughing loudly.

"I do," Ford insisted. "In fact, given what you know I'm dealing with, I think you really should cut me some slack."

"What are you dealing with?" their mother asked.

"Just a few…research complications," Ford said. "We have it under control, don't worry."

"That's true," Stan said.

"Are you two getting along alright?" their mother asked. "I know that ten years is a long time to be apart."

Stan and Ford looked at each other.

"I mean, obviously I didn't do what Ford wanted and that made it a little…dicey…at first," Stan said. "But we're making it work. I really like it up here. The people are really friendly. A bit gullible but I've never actually seen that as a bad thing. Well, okay, there was that one time with Gideon but except for that one time! And it all worked out anyway."

"It's working out much better than I thought it would when Stan first showed up, refused to do what I wanted, and announced he wasn't leaving," Ford said.

Stan scratched his head awkwardly. "Well, yeah, if you're looking at it like that…"

"I am just so glad to hear that, boys, you have no idea," their mother said.

"I think I have some idea," Ford said softly.

"Because your father and I? We're getting up in age," she said. "And it's been complicated with your father for a while now. You know what he's like. He never was the same after the war. Not that that makes what happened acceptable. It wasn't. But he wasn't, either."

"You're not that old, Ma," Stan said.

"I'm getting there," she said again. "And I'm not getting any younger. I always wanted it to be Team Pines against the world."

"Well we've got one of those down at any rate," Stan said dryly.

"Shermie I don't worry about so much because he's got Rachel and Isaac and he actually remembers to call me every week," their mother said. "But you two? My baby boys? I don't understand what you two get up to and that worries me."

"We don't tell you so that you won't worry, Ma. You always get so concerned at the slightest hint of danger," Ford explained.

"Saying things like that, strangely, does not make me any less worried," she replied.

"I mean, you get what he's saying," Stan said. "If he was climbing a tree and almost didn't see a hornet's nest in time but nothing happened, clearly he – probably – learned to be more careful and it's not a big deal. But I know you'd have a heart attack."

"Oh, sweet Moses!" their mother exclaimed. "Did that happen? Stanford, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ma. Stan just used that as a _completely fictional_ example."

"But still, something like a near miss with a hornet's nest isn't the same as, say, setting your own face on fire every day in order to save time on shaving. Ford doesn't do that." He paused. He was pretty sure that was one of those things that Ford had picked up in the other dimension but, then again, what did he know? "You don't, do you?"

Ford stared at him, somewhat horrified. "What do you take me for?"

"I mean, if you did it would be kind of badass. I'd never do it but I'm quite comfortable at my own level of badassness."

"Stanley Filbrick Pines," their mother said sternly. "Do not convince your brother to light his face on fire."

"I'm really not going to," Ford said. "Why would people even think that is something I would do? That's how you end up in the burn ward."

"You could be Two Face," Stan suggested.

"Stan," their mother said warningly.

"Sorry."

"Why would I even want to be a batman villain?" Ford asked.

"I don't judge your choices," Stan said.

Ford sighed. "The point is, Ma, that we're doing fine. And I know you worry about us being alone after you and Dad die and I can't make any promises for the future but right now Stan and I are doing better than we've been doing for a very long time."

"I guess that'll have to be enough," their mother said. "And it's not as though I'll know, not for a while, how all of this works out for you."

She sounded so wistful that Stan and Ford exchanged a glance.

"Tell you what," Stan said. "Shermie can manage to call once a week? I think we can, too. I don't want him getting to be the favorite. I'm the youngest."

"I have _two_ PhDs," Ford countered.

Their mother laughed. "Now, now, boys, you know I don't play favorites."

"But if you did it would be me," Stan couldn't resist adding.

They continued speaking for a few more minutes before hanging up.

"That went…well," Ford said.

"What were you expecting?" Stan asked.

Ford shrugged. "I don't know. It's been…difficult, with her and with everyone, since I left for college."

"Dad doesn't understand research grants, huh?" Stan asked rhetorically.

"Dad's never really been great at understanding anything that stands between him and millions of dollars," Ford replied curtly.

Stan snorted. "I hear that. I hope you don't mind that I volunteered us to make weekly phone calls."

"It's not like I can back out of it now," Ford said. "She'd know it was my doing."

"Do you not want to talk to her?" Stan asked. "She's our mother. It was thirty minutes."

"I know," Ford said. "But she just worries so much. I guess maybe now she'll stop making pointed comments about you. It's just hard because it really does slip my mind and there's so much I could never tell her. She would never understand about the unicorns or Fiddleford's little cult, never mind about the portal and Bill."

"It's hard to lie to the people you care about," Stan agreed. "But surely there's other things that we can talk about. We did alright today."

Ford shook his head. "You seem to be better at this kind of thing than me. I didn't know what to say and you started smoothing everything over like was no issue."

"What can I say?" Stan said, unsure if he was supposed to be proud or not. "I'm really good at lying."

"I think I saw one of your commercials," Ford said. "A few years back."

Stan laughed awkwardly. "Did you now? Those were…that was certainly…I was in a dark place."

"I almost called the number," Ford admitted.

Stan stilled. "Why didn't you?"

"I don't know," Ford said. "I always meant to. But then it never happened."

"That seems to be happening a lot lately, with both me and you," Stan said. "It's why this call schedule thing with Ma is so important. She's all alone with Dad now, with Shermie down in California, and while she may like him far better than I do that's not a fate that I would wish on my worst enemy."

"I don't think she sees it as being stuck with him," Ford objected. "But…you're right. Things are settling down now. I don't know what else we can do to stave off Bill."

"I mean, we should definitely destroy whatever instructions about how to summon him you might have," Stan said. "But other than that I agree."

"The instructions were in an ancient language I had to translate on a cave wall," Ford said. "I would feel weird about ruining such a valuable piece of history."

"I have literally no problem graffiting the shit out of that cave," Stan said bluntly.

Ford rolled his eyes. "My brother, the god of destruction."

"Hey, I could be saving the world here," Stan said. A memory tugged at him. Hadn't Gideon been in contact with Bill earlier? He could have found the cave but he also had one of Ford's journals and he kind of had a terrible track record when it came to keeping dangerous material out of the hands of children. "Any other places someone could look and find out how to summon Bill?"

Ford frowned. "I don't think so. It's just the cave and my journal."

"Journal?"

"I put everything in there," Ford explained. "And my second journal was when I thought Bill and I were friends. It's…actually really embarrassing, looking back now. But the second journal is hidden! It's fine."

"Is it really going to stay hidden forever?" Stan asked. "What if in a hundred years Bill is still biding his time then some idiot digs up your journal and summons Bill?"

"Well, I mean, I'll be dead by then," Ford said.

Stan threw his arms up in the air. "That's no reason to just turn your back and allow the world to be destroyed!"

"I didn't say it was," Ford said. "But do you have any idea how difficult it will be to extract the book, remove the page, and re-hide it without anyone noticing anything?"

"I'll help you," Stan said. "This is important."

"Do you really think this is necessary?"

"Yes," Stan said firmly. "Oh so very much yes."

Ford sighed. "I'll get the shovels."


	8. Chapter 8

Ford had been acting strangely all day. Strange even by his standards which, for anyone else, would mean it would be a good time to start looking into an institution of some kind.

He had taken him to a lake.

"What does this remind you of?" he had asked.

That time he had almost been murdered by a pirate ghost in that very spot because he had accidentally robbed it blind was probably not an answer he wanted to give. Technically it hadn't even happened yet. Ever. It probably shouldn't happen ever.

Stan had shrugged. "I don't know. Florida."

Ford had looked a little disappointed. "It always reminds me of home."

It had taken Stan a second to understand what he meant. To him, after all this time, this _was_ home. How can a place remind someone of itself? "You mean New Jersey."

"Glass Shard Beach," Ford had said wistfully. "Our childhood. I haven't been back there in years, you know. I don't usually think about it but I have been more and more over the last month."

"I wonder why," Stan had muttered.

"This is the one place in town that always reminded me of it," Ford had continued. "I've always liked it here."

Stan had remembered the journal entry. The little drawing of the boat. The fact the drawing had been scribbled over as if Ford couldn't bear to see it and yet not completely gotten rid of. He had still been able to tell what it was.

"Is that not home to you anymore?"

Stan had laughed and just shaken his head.

"No, what?" Ford had pressed.

"I haven't been back there for even longer than you've been there," Stan had pointed out. "And I didn't exactly leave under the best of circumstances."

"I guess not," Ford had said. "But this isn't all of Glass Shard Beach. Just…well, you know."

And Stan had nodded because he did know.

It was…it was actually kind of nice. It wasn't really his scene but maybe it didn't have to be.

Now they were just sitting under the trees. Ford was reading a book and Stan was idly doodling. His drawing style was frustratingly adorable but there wasn't much he could do about that. Well, there wasn't much he could do about that that wouldn't take him far more effort than he was willing to expend on what was ultimately a minor annoyance. This wasn't for anyone to see anyway.

"What are you doing?" Ford asked suddenly.

Stan looked up and saw his brother standing over him and staring down at the picture of the Mystery Shack he'd been drawing. He hastily shut it and climbed to his feet as well. "Nothing, just doodling."

"Because it looks like you're making up plans to turn my house into that stupid tourist trap you were talking about," Ford said, a touch of coldness entering his voice.

Stan shook his head. Because while he did still hope to eventually do that, he wasn't going to push when there was still so much between them and he had bigger priorities. With Ford not lost to another dimension, that kind of made it his decision. Even if it was a brilliant idea and Ford was being needlessly difficult. "I wasn't making plans. I was just drawing some stuff."

"Stuff about turning my house into something that you know I would not be okay with."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Stan said. "I'm not going to get up in the middle of the night and nail this to the roof. It's just a drawing. It doesn't matter."

"I just can't believe you," Ford said, shaking his head. "I thought that…Never mind."

"No, don't _do_ that," Stan said, beginning to get frustrated. "You can't just start something and not finish it."

"I just don't see the point in trying to argue with you," Ford said. "You never listen anyway."

"I never listen?" Stan repeated. Was this it? This was it. He wasn't ready. He was never actually going to be ready. It was a miracle they'd managed to push this off this long. " _I_ never listen?"

"You don't. All I wanted was for you to take my journal and go and it's been a month and you don't even look at the journal most days and now you're planning on making major renovations to my home!"

"It's not a plan, it's a-For fuck's sake, Ford, I thought we were past this! I may not have done what you wanted but you made it quite clear you wouldn't approve of me just shipping the book off somewhere and me being here has been objectively better for everyone! We were able to get the unicorn hair and take down the portal and now we're about as safe from Bill as we can be. And you're not alone to go all paranoid and crazy like you were when I came and the town is now fully aware that you exist!"

But Ford shook his head. "That doesn't matter."

"How does it not matter? How can you seriously be complaining right now that I didn't listen to you when I got us the better outcome?"

"Because you didn't listen. You never listen. I don't know why I expected anything different."

Stan took a deep breath, trying very hard to remind himself that he was really fifty-eight-years old arguing with someone half his age and at least no one had punched anyone yet. "You can't possibly be upset about how this turned out. You can't. This isn't about that."

Ford scowled. "Don't tell me what this is about!"

Should he keep dancing around the issue? Was Ford actually going to say it? Why waste their time on a stupid fight about how Stan kind of saved Ford's ass here? Ford appreciated what he did. He had _thanked him_. This wasn't about that.

Go big or go home.

"I never listen," Stan repeated. "You only mentioned one example. One is hardly 'never.' This isn't about that. This is about ten years ago. This is about the science fair."

"You ruined my chances to go to West Coast Tech!" The words were out almost before Ford could process them and he looked vaguely surprised by what he said.

"I did," Stan agreed. What was the point of denying it? There was every chance that the college people would still have turned Ford down, he didn't really understand any of that perpetual motion crap, but they hadn't gotten the chance to so of course everyone assumed Ford would have made millions with a full ride to that stupid school. "It was an accident but that doesn't mean that I didn't do it."

Ford just shook his head at him. "Are you _still_ claiming it was an accident? After all this time? After you were kicked out? What difference could it possibly make anymore?"

"I don't know," Stan countered. "Why does it bother you if I say it was an accident if it really doesn't matter anymore?"

"Because it's just one more thing to prove that you really haven't changed!" Ford exclaimed. "Okay, you ruined my life when I was seventeen. Okay. You ruined your own life then, too, or at least Dad did. I fixed mine. I probably gave myself an ulcer but I did it. I'm here. Then you showed up when I needed you most and you seem different. You're not that same seventeen-year-old anymore."

"Of course I'm not," Stan said. "Even if I hadn't been through literal hell for ten fucking years, no one stays the same stupid kid they were at seventeen. You didn't, either."

"Hell?" Ford scoffed. "Literal hell?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, that's not what literal means. Whatever. It's just a word. I could tell you things that would leave you shaking for hours afterwards."

"So you've been through a lot," Ford said. "I don't deny it. And I'm not going to pretend that I know. But pain doesn't change who a person is. Time doesn't, ether. Or distance. There's not a lot that would. But when you came and you just cut through what, in hindsight, must have been a lot of paranoid ramblings…I thought it was different. You seemed like you might have actually grown up."

The words hit him. He wasn't sure what to feel. "Of course I have. And I've done nothing since I got here but try to help you! Even that thing with Fiddleford, I know he's like he is because of what happened with you and don't even try to tell me you don't feel guilty about that."

"I won't," Ford snapped. "Because that's the difference between us. I may fuck up on a far larger scale than you ever could but at least I can acknowledge when I do that. You think I meant for Fiddleford to nearly fall in the portal? Of course not. But I can't just brush it off with 'well, it was an accident' and ignore the consequences of my actions, either! I'm not acquitted because of a lack of intent!"

"I can own my mistakes," Stan said firmly.

"You still won't admit you did it on purpose!"

"And just why is it so goddamn hard for you to believe that it was an accident?" Stan demanded. "Maybe if I'm sticking to my story it's because it's true!"

"Because it's exactly what you wanted!"

Stan laughed bitterly. "Really. I wanted to get my ass tossed onto the street with nothing but a duffle bag and my crappy car and to ruin your dreams in the process? What must you think of me."

Ford shook his head impatiently. "I didn't mean that. Of course you didn't like the results. But you never think things through, either!"

Well, he had him there. He could have asked to go back to before Ford summoned Bill or before he broke the science project or really any other point before then, maybe actually applied himself in his classes. He managed to recreate an interdimensional portal to bring his brother home; he could handle some frigging geometry. But when he was asked what he wanted, the only thing he could think of was Ford being torn away from him when he had only just gotten to see him again for the first time in ten years. Perhaps he could have chosen better and they wouldn't even need to have this argument.

But this was what he had picked and this was what he needed to try and deal with.

"You didn't want me to go to that school. I knew that. It's why I couldn't even admit to myself, let alone you, how much I wanted to go. You think I was completely comfortable leaving you behind? But it was an amazing opportunity for me and I don't even know how you could have still thought treasure hunting was a viable option. It was a nice fantasy when we were twelve but we needed to face the real world and you didn't want to do that. You didn't want me to go because I couldn't take you with me," Ford said. "And I know I should have just told you the treasure hunting thing wasn't happening instead of dangling false hope in front of you. But I did and then mysteriously the next day my project broke? And you know what the worst part was?"

He seemed to be waiting for an answer so Stan swallowed hard and asked, "What?"

"If I hadn't found that wrapper, I _never_ would have thought you had anything to do with it. Hell, I couldn't even believe it when I asked you. And then you confirmed it and…you _betrayed_ me." His voice cracked and Stan felt a jolt of pain shoot through him. "I'm really supposed to believe that my project _just happened_ to break and ruin my chance for West Coast Tech?"

"Well, of course not," Stan said. "I didn't say that I had nothing to do with it, just that it was an accident."

Ford crossed his arms. "By all means, Stan, explain to me how long after school got out for the day you just happened to be in there and accidentally broke my project."

Stan looked away. "I don't know, okay? It was stupid. I just got so mad. And I'll admit, I didn't realize you were politely brushing me off about our future so I really did think that that stupid project was going to take you away from me. So I just went to school and I glared at it for a while and I might have yelled at it and then I slammed the table and…well, when things are on tables that you hit they sometimes get hit as well. Sometimes they break. But I swear, it just had a piece of it pop off! Like a vent or something. I tried to put it back on but I swear it was still moving."

Ford nodded. "Sure, Stan. And you didn't warn me, just to make sure? You didn't give me some heads up so I could make absolutely sure that nothing was wrong given that that was the most important presentation that I had ever given?"

Stan sighed, suddenly feeling tired. It was hard to argue about something when you knew that you weren't right. He wasn't completely right, either, but it's not like Stan could prove it. "You know why."

Ford nodded again. "You wanted to keep me next to you no matter what it took."

"No, I thought it would be fine so there was no need to piss you off over something that had been fixed when I was on the verge of losing you anyway!" Stan exclaimed.

"So once again you hide from the consequences of your actions," Ford said contemptuously.

"I was seventeen, Ford. I paid for it. I _more_ than paid for it. And you managed to course correct just fine. I already told you, I'm sorry about what happened. Or…I don't know if I ever did say that but I am. I'm sorry. I should have told you. You're right. But it was a long time ago and holding grudges won't fix anything."

"Neither will apologies."

Stan threw his hands up in the air. "What do you want from me, Ford? Do you want me to leave, is that it?"

"Would you go if I did?" Ford countered.

"Of course not. We're family and you don't give up on family."

"You certainly had nothing to say to Dad the other day," Ford countered.

Stan stiffened. "That's different. The man has no soul. He just threw me away like I was garbage and if he regrets it he hasn't made any effort to try and let me know it."

"So what, all I need to do is kick you out and you'll give up on me, too?"

He couldn't help the images of his Ford, only back for a few short hours, telling him that he would have to go once the kids were gone. That hadn't ended up happening but just the fact that that had been something that could have… "That's different. You had more cause than Dad ever did to be mad at me. I at least hurt your future. Y-You think I betrayed you. Dad was just thinking of millions of dollars that, let's be honest, you were never going to make. You care far too much about figuring things and finding weird stuff out and not nearly enough about, I don't know, finding the cure for cancer. And are you kicking me out?"

Ford looked away, annoyed. "It's things like this that make you so fucking suffocating."

Stan laughed harshly. "Ah. I was wondering when we'd get around to that."

"You were all I ever had in my life. All I had! No one else would talk to either one of us."

"So how does that make me suffocating you and not you suffocating me?" Stan demanded. "How is any of that my fault? It was you they objected to far more than me and you know it!"

"It's different because you don't think that way, because you honestly had no problem with the two of us against the world for the rest of our lives," Ford replied. "It's different because I had a ticket out of that damn town and you didn't. I had somewhere else to be, something else to do, and you just wanted to…what? Keep me from college? Follow me up there and live in my dorm room? You were everywhere I looked and then you ruined everything, just so you could keep me. How is that not suffocating?"

"You never felt that way before," Stan said quietly.

"That was before you destroyed the first thing I ever really wanted for myself," Ford said. "That was before you just tried to pass it off as an accident. That was before I had to learn to live without you and realized just how much of my life you were a part of. And it hurt, of course it hurt, but it was like…it was like I was finally free. And then I went off to college. And it wasn't the best experience of my life but it was miles better than high school or anything that came before. And you weren't there. No one knew your name. It wasn't the Stan twins. It was just Ford. And it was wonderful. Now you come up here and I know there's nothing I can do to make you leave and how do you…if there's no exit strategy how can you breathe? It's like claustrophobia. You're not a bad person, Stan, and not all of this is your fault but I just…you don't know when enough is enough. You forced your way into the picture of me with my trophy!"

"And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?" Stan demanded. "You can't be alone. It was driving you crazy. You won't talk to anyone else. You and Fiddleford managed to get through at least one meal without killing each other but I haven't seen you go anywhere near him since then. I can't help what you're feeling and if you're not going to say it then am I supposed to read your mind? 'Our interactions have left me feeling overwhelmed and suffocated.' Well could you be any less fucking specific? You keep acting like you're the victim here and I have to deal with my own brother, the person I would give the fucking world for, turning his back on me. Oh, I'm 'suffocating.' What am I supposed to do about that? Just fucking disappear? Leave until you can stand to be near me once again? Why are you the one who always gets to call all the shots? I think we both know that if I leave now you're not going to ever call me back."

"So, what? Now I'm wrong for my feelings? I didn't say you _are_ suffocating, just that I feel that way," Ford said. "You think I want to feel that way? You think I don't know that you're right that there's really no one else and that I can't do this alone? If I could just logic my feelings away then I would but I can't. I've _tried_. It's you or nothing and…my feelings don't need to be empirically supported to be valid! And you know what the worst part is?"

He didn't want to ask. But he had come this far and he wasn't about to back down now. "Enlighten me."

"The whole reason I even brought you out here today was because I was trying," Ford said. "This place, no matter how bad it got, always reminded me of our childhood. It always reminded me of you. And sometimes I couldn't even stand to look at it. I thought if I took you out here, you might understand. That we might…but we can't even do that, can we? Stay, go, it doesn't even matter. I'm starting to wonder if there's any point to this at all."

"How can you even say that?" Stan demanded. "It's been a month and we've only fought once! We've been getting along just fine!"

"Because we both had bigger things on our minds and didn't want to get dragged back to that fight we never really got to have from ten years ago," Ford said. "But I think today just proved that neither of us are over a damn thing. And at some point you have to ask yourself, how much is it going to take to try and fix things? Is it even worth it to try? And I don't have the answer to that."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Stan standing and staring after him.

"But I do," Stan said quietly. "I'm not giving up on us, Sixer. And if that makes me suffocating…" He sighed. "Well, it's not like I ever thought that this would be easy."


	9. Chapter 9

This was horrible.

He knew it would be.

He always hated it when Ford was mad at him. Hated it even more when he couldn't even say that Ford was wrong. Hated it when he didn't know how to fix it.

He had forgotten just how good his brother was at living in the same house as him and still managing to avoid him. It had been awhile since he had last had to deal with that. It was easier when Ford's anger wasn't haunting these halls.

He had thought he was done with that once he and Ford had finally managed to come to an understanding after they had saved the world. Seeing Ford like that, a statue, a trophy…it had been hard. It had cut right through forty years of bitterness and allowed him to finally try and have an honest conversation with his brother. He didn't know what Ford had been through during the days Bill ruled the town. The fact Ford wouldn't talk about it suggested he remembered whatever it was. He didn't know much of what happened to Ford in the portal.

But he knew enough. He knew that Ford was as sick of fighting as he was and had finally been forced to see, when Stan fought to free him and stop Bill, that Stan did have his good points, too. That he wasn't just somebody to write off.

And they had talked. And it had been beautiful and painful and nothing like he had ever expected or ever wanted to go through again. And it was over. And they were brothers again.

But then Stan had to go and change the game.

He had to bring himself back to this time where there were so many less reasons for resentment but also so much less wisdom, so much less understanding of what could have been and what was really important.

Ford almost never brought up the school anymore. His Ford, the one that was still older than him, didn't. What did that matter in the face of the portal and the rift and the world? He couldn't even say that without Backupsmore there would have been no Bill because Ford's thesis had been enough for him to write his own ticket and who was to say he wouldn't have always chosen Gravity Falls? Maybe a graduate of West Coast Tech would have felt the burning need to prove himself even more keenly than the one who enjoyed mostly bug-free dorms.

Who could say?

This Ford had no idea just how badly things could be. He knew, vaguely, about worlds ending but he couldn't really imagine it. No one who hadn't seen it could. What else did he have to be angry about but the school and the betrayal? It wasn't a betrayal, Stan was certain of that much, but how could Ford even believe that with that feeling of betrayal blinding him?

He wasn't mad about Stan's help, no matter what he might think. It was the school. More than that, it was having the one person he always counted on not just not being there for him but actively sabotaging him. Stan wished he could say that he didn't understand. Somehow he'd become almost _forgiving_ in his old age.

Ford's anger had never felt so isolating before. He barely had time to process that Ford was furious the first time it had been anything more than childish squabbles before he was escorted from Ford's life by that asshole who called himself their father. He was too busy burning hotter than Ford during their portal fight. And then, when Ford was back and all hope of reconciling seemed lost forever, there were at least the kids always there. There was at least Soos and Wendy and all the suckers he could rob blind.

Now it was just him and Ford and the distance between them.

They hadn't actually spoken since it happened.

Four days.

He had gone for thirty years without speaking to his brother and another ten before that. What was four days?

Somehow it still made him feel sick. At least before they had kept their silence because they weren't in the same place and simply couldn't speak. Now Ford turned around and left the room if he saw that Stan was in it and, as much as he hated to admit it, Stan was doing the same thing.

Here he was, a grown-ass man and then some, acting like some sort of petulant teenager.

Granted Ford was, too, but at least Ford had been a teenager within the last decade.

Ford hadn't said anything about kicking him out. He hadn't said anything at all, true, but he hadn't tried to kick him out. Honestly, Stan didn't think he really would. Not without a couple more decades in which to forget.

Stan wanted to talk to him. He wanted to try and fix this. But how could he?

He couldn't prove that it had been an accident all those years ago. He didn't think Ford even cared all that much that he'd done it anymore, just that he wouldn't admit that it was on purpose. But it _hadn't_ been on purpose. And it wasn't like he had any sort of problem, moral or otherwise, with lying under most circumstances. He looked Dipper in the eye and promised him that he was hiding nothing else from him right after the kid had been good enough to forgive him for pretending not to know about the supernatural for more than a month. He swore to Mabel that nothing bad would happen if she let the portal activate and he hadn't known that, not at all, he'd only hoped. And he was wrong but even if he'd been right it still would have been a lie.

He could lie. He could tell Ford exactly what he wanted (needed?) to hear. He could easily say that he'd been jealous and resentful and he wanted that stupid college offer to disappear so he and Ford could get on with their lives together. It wasn't even a lie. And he had broken the project. It just hadn't been on purpose. He wasn't sure what he had expected to happen when he'd hit the table. He probably hadn't been thinking at all. And while he'd tried not to think too much about that piece that fell off, he really had thought it would all be okay.

Why couldn't he just say that?

He'd opened his mouth several times, just trying to rehearse a fake confession, only to be unable to force the words out.

What did it matter?

So what if Ford thought he was right about him all those years ago. So what if that would be his legacy, sabotaging his own twin and losing everything.

It didn't matter. If Ford was willing to move past it then why couldn't he just choke the words out and go from there?

He didn't know. And as long as he didn't know he couldn't fix it.

And it was more than just that stupid fucking perpetual motion machine.

It was the fact Ford claimed that Stan was suffocating. He didn't see how he was suffocating. He'd left Ford alone for ten solid years until he'd been summoned. He gave Ford plenty of space now and only made him talk to people some of the time and even Ford admitted it was really something that he needed. How was that suffocating?

But it was a feeling. That was the problem. Stan could fight accusations like being a liar or a cheat or being out to hurt him. Even if a feeling was wrong, it was hard to escape. Stan had tried to murder his often enough.

He couldn't be the one to approach Ford. He was the one who needed to give Ford space and not suffocate him so wasn't it up to Ford to tell him when enough was enough, to decide when he wanted to be around Stan again? What if Stan decided a month was enough time to leave him alone (a whole month of this? He'd go mad) and then went up to him and Ford still didn't think it was enough time. What if seeing him around the house all the time, though never interacting with him, stopped that feeling from really fading away? What if it was slowly fading and Stan spoke too soon and that feeling of suffocation returned in full force and they were back to square one?

What if Ford didn't think it was his job to approach Stan? What if he thought, as the supposed wounded party, it wasn't his job to go chasing after Stan? What if he thought that if Stan really wanted to fix this so badly it should be up to him to make the first move.

All this wondering was driving him crazy but there was nothing else to do but sit around and wait and slowly drive himself crazy.

He had to get out of his own head.

He went into town. A bit of a break would be good for both of them, if Ford even noticed.

"Well look who we have here," Blubs said. He wasn't the sheriff just yet but he would be pretty soon.

"Um, yes," Stan said. "Is there some reason you'd be surprised to see me or something?"

Blubs shrugged. "Not really. I just haven't seen you around in a few days."

"It's been like five days," Stan said.

"And we've been used to seeing you around damn near every day," Blubs said. "It's like you were some kind of wanted criminal desperately trying to establish an alibi or something, trying to convince us you were here all along even though it's barely been more than a month."

Stan snorted. "That's not bad, actually. I'll have to try it the next time I'm on the run from the law."

"You've been on the run from the law before?" Blubs asked curiously.

"Oh, once or twice. All very minor things. Did you know that in Jersey, while everything is legal, it's also not allowed for a man to knit during fishing season? Or in Oregon you can't eat ice cream on Sunday? I'm a hardened criminal, I tell you."

All those things were true. Not actually related but true.

"I eat ice cream on Sunday _all the time_ ," Blubs realized. "Does this make me a hardened criminal, too?"

Stan shrugged. "I don't know your life."

"But, like I was saying, it's strange because you've been around all the time ever since you got here. That brother of yours, he was well on his way to becoming an urban legend before you came along. In fact, I _still_ haven't seen him without you."

"That's Ford, for you," Stan said. "He likes weird stuff more than people."

"There's nothing weird about Gravity Falls, though," Blubs said, confused.

Stan stared at him. "I can't tell if you've lived here too long, are just extremely unobservant, or recently had a visit from Fiddleford's cult."

Blubs shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know, either. But I guess that might be why he spends so much time looking for weird stuff, what with their not being all that much around."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Stan asked. "Don't you have work or something."

"Well, I did," Blubs said. "But the Dusk 2 Dawn closed down this morning."

"Oh really?" Stan asked. "What happened?"

"Ma and Pa Duskerton are in the hospital. They almost died," Blubs explained, waggling his fingers like he was trying to be spooky.

There was really only one thing that he could say to that.

"Their names couldn't have really been Ma and Pa."

"They were," Blubs insisted. "Well…sort of. It was Mary and Patrick. So just take the first two letters of their names and you've got Ma and Pa. They always did go for that kind of thing and, you have to admit, with their names being what they were it was a pretty unique opportunity."

"It's a stupid opportunity, that's what it is."

Blubs snorted. "Coming from the guy whose brother is also named Stan."

"His name is Ford," Stan corrected. "Don't let him hear you calling him Stan. He will smite you."

Blubs crossed his arms. "Now how is he going to smite me?"

"He'll find a way. Spooky experiments, remember?"

If Blubs' reaction was anything to go by, Stan was far better at the spooky hands than Blubs himself was. As it should be.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened to Ma and Pa?" Blubs asked.

What? Oh, right. On the one hand, he didn't actually care. On the other, it was one thing to not bother asking but quite another to outright tell someone you didn't care why two people were nearly died.

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

"You know how they hate teenagers, right?"

"I had no idea that they hated teenagers," Stan said.

"Oh, come on, Stan, everyone knew that!"

Stan shrugged. "What can I tell you? I didn't."

"Well, they did. They hated their music and their clothes and their disrespectful language…everything about them, basically."

"They realize that teenagers aren't so monolithic group, right?" Stan asked. Monolithic? Oh, yeah, he'd been spending a lot of time with Ford lately. "Not all of them are like they describe. And some children or adults are."

"Well they seem to have focused their energy on hating teenagers," Blubs said. "So they banned them from their store."

"It's almost like they _want_ the ACLU to come harass them," Stan marveled, making a mental note to make that happen if for no other reason than 'Ma and Pa' were really annoying and they were infringing on teenagers' civil liberties.

"Even though they banned them, a couple of teenagers came in this morning and wouldn't leave when they were asked to go," Blubs explained. "They were just buying some soda and candy. Ma wouldn't ring them up so they just shrugged and walked out. With the merchandise!"

Stan was unmoved. "Well, they did try and buy it. They can't help it if they were being discriminated against."

"They could have gone somewhere else! They should have returned the stuff they couldn't buy," Blubs insisted.

Stan could make an argument but it would probably piss Blubs off and he wasn't in the mood to have anyone else mad at him today. "So how does that translate to anyone nearly dying? Did they get into a fistfight with the teenagers or something?"

Blubs shook his head. "Oh, no. They just had double heart attacks when the teenagers stole their stuff. They're in the hospital now so the store's closed."

Stan laughed. "Are you-are you kidding me? They both had heart attacks at the same time?"

Blubs nodded. "Yep."

"Because some brats stole some stuff from them?"

"That is what I said," Blubs confirmed.

"Why, though?" Stan still couldn't believe it. "Out of shock? It couldn't have been shock. If they didn't hate teenagers and think they were terrible then why ban them? And if they did think they were so terrible, why have a literal heart attack – both of them! – at some provoked shoplifting?"

"Do I look like a doctor to you?" Blubs demanded.

Stan shrugged. "I don't judge people by such things as how professional they look or whether they are literally wearing a Dusk 2 Dawn uniform right now."

"Now _that_ sounds stupid," Blubs said.

"You should try to go be sheriff," Stan told him. Blubs was Stan's all-time favorite sheriff and it got even better once Durbin joined the force. There was nothing he loved more than incompetent law enforcement and they were just so friendly about it. He had once gotten them to believe he had a doctor's note allowing a bear to drive him around even though he wrote that note right in front of him. And then when he was forced to tell the truth and they caught him in that lie, Mabel (of all people!) claimed he was an author and suggested they had lost weight and suddenly they couldn't be bothered to follow up on that whole lying about a seeing eye bear thing.

Blubs' eyes widened. "How did you know that's always been a secret dream of mine?"

"Lucky guess," Stan said.

He finished talking to the future sheriff and then went to go talk to some other people.

Eventually, he decided to head home. It could be exhausting trying to talk to people when all you wanted to do was sit in front of the television and marathon shows that wouldn't even come out for decades.

It was remarkable. The town was eagerly making space for him and he was usually pretty keen on letting them but for some reason, despite the fact he'd talked to more than a dozen people, it just didn't touch him like it usually did.

For some reason he felt almost more hollow than he had before he had started out, although at least he had managed to pass some time and think about something else for two minutes.

But now he was going home alone and Ford would be there and he would still be alone.

He got inside and the lights were off. There was no sign of Ford. Was he even home? He didn't feel comfortable going to look for him. What would he even say? "Oh, hi, glad to see you're here. Now I'm going to continue to ignore you while you're ignoring me and we just sort of ignore this bomb that detonated between us."

Yeah, not that. Whatever he would say it would not be that.

He made himself dinner. There were no new dishes in the sink since he left which meant that either Ford had taken food down to the lab or, more likely, he hadn't bothered to have lunch or dinner. It would be ridiculous of him to finally start talking to him to yell at me about taking better care of himself. It might even be, dare he say it, _suffocating_.

What did he know about these things?

He sat down in front of the television. He flipped through channels until he found some mindless comedy.

He set the remote down and picked up his sandwich and began to eat.

And he did not, absolutely did _not_ , think about Ford.

So there.


	10. Chapter 10

After another three days of hell, Ford sat down next to him as he was eating lunch.

Just casually sat next to him as if nothing had happened.

It made it harder to see his face. Maybe that was the point.

Stan said nothing. He wanted to but he didn't know how to do it. He didn't know where to start.

"We haven't spoken in a week, Stan," Ford said.

"We've gone longer without speaking," Stan said noncommittally.

"Yes but that was when we were living hundreds of miles away from each other," Ford pointed out. "Back home, I couldn't even last three hours without talking to you."

"Back home the worst thing I ever did was step on your glasses. And no one, not even Dad, thought that I did that on purpose. My own glasses, sure. But not yours."

"I don't want to turn into this," Ford said. "I've been thinking a lot over the past week and I don't want us to be just roommates who are strangers. You're my twin brother, Stanley. I can't have you here and not talk to you. We can't both be living here and not talk."

"Are you kicking me out?" Stan asked. He didn't think that Ford would but it had been a long week that left him questioning every decision he had made since that damn science fair all those years ago. Sometimes he thought that nothing would surprise him now.

"I already told you that I wouldn't," Ford said evenly.

Stan shrugged. "Things change."

"Not this," Ford said firmly. "I'm not Dad. That's one line I won't cross."

"At least that."

"Give me something," Ford said.

"What?"

"I don't know. More than that. I'm trying here and you're just giving me monosyllabic replies."

Stan sighed. "I'm tired, Ford. I don't know what you want to hear."

Ford shook his head impatiently. "Don't worry about what I want to hear. When have you ever cared about that?"

He had always cared about that and especially since he had come back to this time. He just hadn't always given Ford the words he was looking for. But there was little point in trying to explain. Ford wasn't the kind of person who would want someone to tell him just what he wanted to hear anyway.

"I keep looking back on what happened and trying to understand how me just sketching some stuff led to…all of that. Radio silence for a whole week," Stan said helplessly.

A flash of what might have been guilt flashed across Ford's face. "Yeah, me, too."

"I just…I know how you feel about tourist attractions. I know you don't understand why they're so important to me. But I just…I _miss_ the Mystery Shack."

"Stan, it looked exactly like my house but with some letters on top," Ford said.

Stan smiled humorlessly. "What, you think your house is some kind of unique specimen or something? The place I'm thinking of looks a lot like this place. Not exact but close enough."

"You are right, you know."

Stan blinked at him. "Come again?"

Ford glared half-heartedly at him. "You heard me. You're right about me not understanding. You more than understand, or at least as well as anyone can who isn't a freak-"

"I swear, it's like talking to a wall," Stan interrupted. "Ford, you're not a freak."

Ford's laugh sounded painful. "See? Even angry with me and hurt, you still won't let me say it."

Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, what can I say? I wouldn't want to be inconsistent about my message. Me being upset doesn't make you a freak. Your lack of freakishness isn't really dependent on me."

Ford shook his head. "We can talk about this later."

"We _will_ be talking about this later," Stan said, feeling oddly like he was threatening his brother. "Preferably with a therapist. But please, go on."

"You understand where I'm coming from but I really don't understand why you're so set on this idea," Ford said. "And since you usually try to avoid things you know will upset me, this must be something you're _really_ set on."

"Maybe," Stan conceded.

"So just tell me. Don't worry about whether I'll agree or not, just try and make me understand."

Stan sighed. "Okay, the first thing you need to understand is that a high school diploma, or at least a GED, is extremely important when trying to get a job. An address is also a big help. Maybe some references. A phone number you can be reached at. You know, that kind of thing."

"It, uh, stands to reason."

"Well when I got kicked out I didn't have any of those things. I didn't really know what to do. I had never really planned for the future. I guess I knew treasure hunting was never going to work but I still tried it anyway because at that point, why not? It was my one chance of making millions. That, uh, didn't pan out. I needed a job. Those are hard to come by. I wasn't really all that good at anything. I went to prison once or twice. Or, uh, well, you know what? The number of times really doesn't matter. Basically I was in a lot of trouble. And with some criminals, too. I don't really want to get into the details but you found me at a place that was literally called Dead End Flats."

Ford bowed his head. "I remember. So where do tourist traps come in?"

Stan spread his hands and smiled mirthlessly. "Would you believe it's the first thing in my life I was ever really good at? I mean, there was boxing of course but those days are long gone. Scamming people out of money? Making them thank me for the privilege? Actually getting some repeat customers and lifelong fans? Oh, you had better believe I had found my calling. And I actually liked making up the attractions. Trying to figure out what would appeal to the most number of people and how to make it fun even when people knew they were being ripped off. I'm not you, Ford. I don't excel at practically everything. I didn't expect to be good at this. I just sort of fell into it. But I am! It's a reliable way of making money and I think Gravity Falls would be the perfect place for something like that, even without the added boost of the public's curiosity about you. I know you don't want anything like that and I'm not going to force it. But I can't deny that I've been thinking about it."

Ford was quiet for a long moment. "That-that's not what I expected."

Stan crossed his arms. "Well what did you expect? 'Ripping people off is fun'?"

"I don't know what I expected," Ford admitted. "Maybe some variant of that. I-I know what it's like to feel like you're only valuable for one thing."

Stan couldn't even pretend not to be skeptical and it probably showed on his face.

"I'm, uh, lumping academics into one thing," Ford explained.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Well, sure, if you're going to lump a million things into one then you're only good at one thing."

"And being good at conning people is probably multiple different things, too, right?" Ford asked a little uncertainly.

"Well, sure, but I'm not really counting things like pickpocketing and counterfeiting as my legitimate skill sets," Stan said. "I mean, I'm good at pretty much all conman activities but I was talking about things that don't have the potential to land me jail time. And I've had a lot of jobs but nothing suits me quite as much as running my own tourist trap."

"I'll, uh, have to…I see," Ford said awkwardly.

Stan shrugged. "Well, you asked."

"I know I did. I know that I'm probably the one who started it last week. And then who escalated it. You eventually got in on it but I really don't understand how zen you've gotten over the last decade," Ford said.

Stan shrugged. "What's to understand? There's a lot of stuff that would normally make me mad but, after being on my own for so long, I started to realize what was important. I'm not about to let little things like you consistently saying the wrong thing in any given situation tear us apart again. And if that's suffocating then I just…" He shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you."

"That wasn't…that wasn't fair," Ford admitted, pointedly staring straight ahead of him.

"No, it wasn't," Stan agreed. "But you were right, too. You can't help what you feel. I can't blame you for that, even if I want to. Even if I don't agree and honestly don't see how objectively this past month has been suffocating."

"There you go with your maturity," Ford said, shaking his head. "Who would have thought losing everything and going through hell, metaphorical of course, would have given you so much character growth?"

"The years no doubt have changed me," Stan quoted.

Ford just looked at him askance. "But it's not just about this past month. It's about, due to the fact we had pretty much no one else our whole lives and you were starting to need me more than I needed you, towards the end I was feeling like we needed a break. And then once you left, those feelings only intensified whether or not it was really fair. And now you're back and things are different and I feel we have a much better dynamic. But it's so easy to slip into old patterns."

"I know," Stan admitted.

Ford stared at him. "Do you? Because you don't seem to be slipping into any!"

Stan smiled ruefully. "Glad to see all my hard work is paying off. And, for what it's worth, you're doing far better than I would have done if I'd been in your shoes."

"I feel like all I've done recently is fuck everything up," Ford admitted softly. "I've been feeling like that for a while. Maybe I haven't done anything right since I first summoned Bill."

Stan considered his words carefully. "Well, I can certainly see how doing that could lead to a whole host of bad choices. But you've made some good ones. You reached out to me, didn't you? And I'd like to think that together we've been making some pretty great choices."

"But that was all you," Ford pointed out. "I wanted you to take the journal and go. Which…I'm starting to suspect will never be done."

"I've been busy!"

"But that still would have left me all alone with nothing but my fears and the portal and no way to protect myself. You give me someone to talk to and you gave me the idea to protect the house so I could take down the portal. You convinced me that maybe I should actually have someone in town I wasn't related to who was on speaking terms with me."

It was tempting to just take the accolades. Instead, Stan shook his head. "But that's looking at it from the outside. It's always easy to see the solution to someone else's problem. I come here, you're kind of a wreck. Solution: get some sleep and eat some real food. You can't bring yourself to leave the house for fear of what will happen to the portal when you're gone? Solution: find a goddamn unicorn and do whatever it takes to get that hair. People in town are literally confusing me with you despite the fact we don't look all that much alike anymore? Solution: introduce you to people. It's pretty basic but it's not my life. I'm sure if I had asked you how to survive being homeless without ending up in a Colombian prison, you could offer some helpful hints."

"I, uh…" Ford trailed off, his eyes wide.

"It doesn't matter," Stan said quickly. "Don't worry about it."

"Doesn't matter? Stan, you just told me that you went to prison in Colombia!" Ford exclaimed.

"Which I should not have done," Stan said.

"I'm your brother! You need to tell me these things!"

Stan bit down his instinctual response about how he'd have loved to have done that if only Ford had been willing to speak to him at the time. They seemed like, after this hellish week, they might actually be getting somewhere. "There's no point worrying you after the fact. And it's not like you were having an easy time of it yourself up here."

Ford winced. "That was pretty recent. Well, Bill I've known for a few years now but it's only been the last few months that I knew the truth about him."

"Enough about that. If we're going to talk about the past, let's talk about something that could actually impact our future. Namely, what did you mean when you said you felt like we needed a break back in high school? Assuming that this is what you were genuinely feeling at the time and not just how you felt in retrospect after your project broke," Stan said.

"I felt a lot of things differently in retrospect," Ford said. "But that was not one of them. I really did feel like we needed to take a break."

Stan made a face. "And…if you want to stop with the romantically coded way of phrasing that then that would be great."

"…What?" Ford asked eloquently.

"I'm just saying," Stan said, feeling slightly ridiculous. But it was one of those things where once you started you really had to see it through to the end. "We keep talking about taking a break. I feel like we're talking about a freaking break-up here."

"But…we're brothers," Ford said slowly, looking at Stan like he was quite possibly deranged. "And we're clearly not."

Stan sighed. "Just…different word choice? For me?"

"Okay…I thought it would be a good idea for the two of us to have some distance between us," Ford said. "Even before everything went horribly wrong. My main goal from college was to escape from New Jersey. I figured you might get out or you might not but either way it was unlikely you'd end up at my same college."

"You didn't consider that maybe I'd follow you wherever you went?" Stan asked.

"Honestly? No. Maybe I should have if that was what you were thinking. But I wanted some space."

"But…why?" Stan asked, feeling ridiculously seventeen and rejected again. "What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong!" Ford immediately reassured him. "It's just what you said. Our whole lives, we had no one but each other. Oh, sure, there were our parents but they were far from perfect. Dad literally constantly told us that having children ruined your life. And I'm pretty sure he was mostly talking about Shermie because if you do the math then he's the reason they got married but that kind of thing messes you up. And Shermie was fine but he was just so much older. And the rest of the world…well."

"Fuck them," Stan said bluntly. "Bunch of New Jersians anyway."

"We're also from New Jersey," Ford pointed out.

"Good luck proving it."

"I don't need to prove it; I was there," Ford said. "I…oh, never mind. The point is, I was looking for a change. I wanted to see who I was for a change. On my own."

"Without me," Stan said. "Yeah, I get it. How is that not about me?"

"You remember that day that the principal told me about West Coast Tech?" Ford asked rhetorically. "We talked about it afterwards but I didn't have to tell you what was said. Why was that?"

"Because that door didn't muffle shit," Stan said. "I could hear all about it, him going off about how great you were, especially in comparison to me who would never amount to anything."

"He was an idiot," Ford said firmly. "But that was what I was getting at. They wanted me so they called _us_. It was always us. The Pines twins. The Stan twins. Dad couldn't even be assed to give us our own names! Or at least letting Mom pick one of them."

"Honestly, she probably did. Hence Stanley and Stanford," Stan said.

"Haven't you ever felt like that?" Ford asked, almost beseechingly. What he was looking for, Stan didn't know.

"Felt like what?" Stan asked.

"Like you just turned around and realized how much of who you are depended on another person," Ford said. "Like it terrified you and like you didn't know what to do about it. Like it wasn't anybody's fault but you needed to just be a whole instead of a half."

And the worst thing was, he did. He probably felt that way before Ford ever had. At least Ford was the brains of the operation. He got the 'why can't he be more like his brother's while other kids like him got the 'they just need to apply themself's.

But it had never been Ford's fault. He'd always been so proud of him. Even that day he got a B and was so excited to show his mother but Ford got there first with his perfect A like usual and he knew nothing that he tried would ever be able to measure up so why even bother wasting everybody's time with that?

And then all the years of trying to forget that he'd ever even had a twin, out on his own. All those years of might as well having been an only child for all the good having brothers was doing him. Ford had rejected him and Shermie…he hadn't even been able to call Shermie, to deal with his reaction. It hadn't occurred to him it would be anything but bad and hadn't that weighed heavily on him when Shermie had confided how bad losing Stan had hurt him?

"I guess I can," Stan conceded.

"You're not doing anything wrong here," Ford said. "I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise. I can't promise that these feelings are going to go away overnight but I'm working on it. And I'm willing to try if you are."

Stan smiled at him. "I'm always willing to try. And…" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, too."

"For the science fair? I think you already apologized for that," Ford said.

"I know. But I can't say it enough. That's what really started all of this. Maybe if I hadn't done that, maybe if I'd been around, you wouldn't have needed to turn to evil geometry to get you through your worries."

Ford shook his head. "I can't put that on you. I won't. I made my own choices and, even if some of them stemmed from yours, they're still mine. I-I don't know if I believe it was an accident or not. But I'm starting to think it doesn't matter. And no matter what happened, you didn't deserve what came next. I think I'm ready to forgive you."

It had been an accident. Stan had been through worse than this Ford, the one who would never see the other side of the portal, could even begin to imagine. Being graciously forgiven for one little fuck-up that had hurt Ford but destroyed Stan shouldn't have meant this much to him.

But it did.

Blinking back what was most certainly not tears, Stan threw his arm around his brother.

After a moment, Ford tentatively returned the embrace.


	11. Chapter 11

"Do you know who we should call?" Stan asked.

"Well probably not our mother because we just called her two days ago," Ford said. "I don't know. Do you want to order pizza or something?"

Stan paused. "Now that you mention it, yes. But that wasn't where I was going with that."

"I guess that rules out all the other food-related delivery places," Ford said. "And that leaves…what does that leave? You usually just go and see your friends from town instead of calling them."

"Sooner or later they're going to be your friends from town, too," Stan said. "Our friends from town."

"That may be," Ford said agreeably. "But until then, the point stands."

"Nothing like that," Stan said. "Seriously, are you not seeing where I'm going with this?"

"I have no idea where you're going with this," Ford confirmed. "Another tally in the 'twins don't have ESP' column."

"I don't know. I think we totally have ESPN," Stan said, grinning.

Ford blinked at him. "What?"

"Oh, no," Stan said, gesturing dramatically. "ESPN is absolutely a thing! I checked! 1979!"

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about when you say things like that, right?"

Stan sighed. "I know. What I wouldn't give for somebody who _gets_ me."

Ford paused. "So is that _another_ tally in the-"

"Oh my God, Ford, I was thinking we should call our brother."

"Our brother?" Ford repeated.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Shermie. He's a valued member of our family and in possession of the only offspring our family's got. If we ever want any adorable twin grandnieces and nephews then we're going to need to remember that he exists on a consistent basis."

"There's so much there I don't even know where to start," Ford marveled. "First, I'm not sure 'in possession of' is really the best way to put that. And I remember he exists! He just…lives far away and isn't really a part of my day-to-day life. And you sound like of like a supervillain when you say we should talk to him because we'll want to be a part of his grandchildren's lives. Besides, what makes you think Isaac will even have twins?"

Stan snorted. "They live in Piedmont, Pointdexter. That's way more doable than New Jersey. And why wouldn't I think Isaac would have twins? We're twins and we all know that-"

Ford's eyes widened. "Don't you dare!"

The thing was, if this was before they had finally gotten that awful fight out of their system and seemed to be working towards actual reconciliation then Stan probably wouldn't have dared. But he had _earned_ this, damn it! "Twins skip a generation."

Ford closed his eyes, looking like he was in pain, and threw his head back, groaning.

"You okay over there, Ford?" Stan asked, trying to fight a smile.

"I'm not," Ford replied. "And you know I'm not. How dare you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stan lied. "All I said was-"

"Yes, okay, we both know what you said," Ford interrupted. "And you know what a load of crap that is."

"Do I?" Stan asked. "I'm no science guy. I just know what everyone says."

"No, you're just the guy who recognized an interdimensional portal on sight," Ford countered.

Stan shrugged. He had him there. But really, he had never studied genetics or anything like that.

"Genes do not 'skip generations'. It is impossible. That is not how genes work," Ford insisted. "I may not be an expert as my interests generally lie elsewhere but I know that much."

"Then how do you explain when there's a set of twins in one family then no twins in the next generation but the generation after that has twins?" Stan challenged.

"How would a gene even know to skip a generation in expression?" Ford asked, looking way more pained than this conversation really warranted. "The fact that twins pop up in families just suggests a strong genetic link. It just means that it's not a gene that's strong enough for it to always pop up – though really there are always exceptions – like with coloring. It means that if you're a twin it doesn't mean that you will necessarily have twins but maybe somewhere further down the line someone in the family will. Maybe even your non-twin children. It could manifest as us being twins and then Isaac having twins. But that's not the same as 'skipping a generation.' That's not even remotely scientific, it doesn't have to happen, and I will not be held accountable for my actions the next time someone tries to sell me that conventional wisdom crap."

Stan waited a moment to make sure he wouldn't laugh before saying, quite innocently, "Was it something I said?"

Ford made a sound of wordless frustration and, while he was doing that, Stan picked up the phone and dialed Shermie's number.

"This will be good for us," Stan said. "We're getting back in touch with Ma, we got back in touch with each other, we should get back in touch with Shermie. There's no such thing as too many people who love you and he had nothing to do with any of what happened with us. And I heard something about how he just wants us to talk to him."

Shermie picked up. "Talk to who?"

Stan gestured for Ford to come over by him. "Hi, Shermie."

"…Hi," Shermie said uncertainly. It hurt that he didn't recognize his voice but, then, it had been ten years since he heard it. He had once been able to fool him into thinking he was Ford. And wow had that been an awkward conversation once Ford had been back, telling him the truth.

"It's your brother," Stan said, just to be difficult. He knew Ford hadn't spoken to him often enough for Shermie to be able to know the difference. And none of that was Shermie's fault. But he was fixing that now, wasn't he?

Ford came up and stood next to him. "It's your _brothers_. Plural."

"Stan?" Shermie asked, sounding as if he couldn't believe it. "Ford?"

"In the flesh," Ford confirmed. "Or, not really, I suppose. We are some distance away from you."

"I…what's going on?" Shermie asked. "Did somebody die?"

"Did somebody die," Stan repeated. "You know, Ford, I think I'm insulted."

"Ma didn't think somebody died when we called her," Ford said. "I guess she just has more faith in us than our own brother does."

"Oh, do not even give me that," Shermie said. "Although I may have to have a word with our mother about not telling me that you two were speaking again. It's been literally ten years. Or maybe it hasn't. Maybe you two made up years ago and nobody bothered to tell me."

"Nothing so…dramatic as that," Ford assured him. "I don't know why she didn't tell you. We started calling her a few weeks ago."

"Maybe she didn't want to put any pressure on us," Stan suggested. "It's been, uh, a bit of a rough journey getting to this point."

"Yeah," Ford said softly. "I know."

"That's great and all," Shermie said. "And I am really happy for you. Truly. I can't really express how glad I am to hear this. To hear about it weeks later, not so much, but at least you bothered to tell me at all."

Ford looked uncomfortable. "Right. We did."

"So I'm guessing you want to know what happened?"

"There is literally nothing I want more right now," Shermie said. "Except, maybe, for everyone else to model their lives after Shakespearian tragedies and to just casually bring it up in conversation with me weeks later while I just sit here wondering where I went wrong and why I'm the only reasonable person in this family."

Knowing Shermie as he did, Stan knew he had said 'reasonable person' instead of 'normal person' so as not to risk Ford's insecurity flaring up. Ford likely didn't even realize it. They needed to talk to Shermie more.

"We're not quite that bad!" Ford protested.

"Actually, I'm with Shermie on this one," Stan said. Sure, the time wish was the equivalent to Romeo going back in time and stopping Mercutio from getting himself murdered in the streets like an idiot but it was still going to be an epic tragedy without kind of blatantly cheating.

"Thank you," Shermie said. "I'm not really glad to be right but I just call them like I see them."

"Well, we're, uh, trying to be less tragic these days," Ford said. "Not always succeeding but we're trying."

"So what happened?" Shermie asked again. "Which one of you finally reached out? Rachel has a theory that the reason it literally took ten years for you two to reach out to each other was because Stan was worried about being rejected again and so felt Ford needed to contact him when he was done being mad. Ford, meanwhile, didn't think it was up to him to make the first move because he was the wronged party and Stan should try to fix things."

Stan and Ford exchanged an awkward look.

Stan coughed. "I, uh, can't say that that's really _wrong_. I tried to call Ford a couple of times but I always lost my nerve. Wasn't sure it'd be welcome, you know? Eventually, he sent me a postcard asking me to come see him and I did and we're working it out."

"I…can't say that reconciliation was my motivation, though," Ford admitted, a bit sheepishly. "Once I reached out to him…I needed someone I could trust. If things had worked out the way I wanted them to, I think I would have been open to the idea of reconnecting. It just hadn't really occurred to me."

"Uh-oh. What happened?" Shermie asked.

"Nothing major," Stan lied. "He was just stressed about research and intellectual property and all that. I came and kind of refused to leave and Ford's just sort of given up and accepted he has a roommate now."

"That is certainly one way of putting it," Ford said.

Shermie laughed. "Well I love it. After all the pain and drama and ten fucking years of not talking, it was going to take something extreme anyway. I guess Stan just refusing to go away is as good an impetus for a reconciliation as any."

"We were thinking that we really needed to apologize to you, too. Or at least I do," Stan told him.

"Wait, what are you apologizing for?" Ford asked, confused.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Really, Ford."

"No, I don't get it, either," Shermie said. "For having fought and not spoken for ten years? Because that was pretty bad but that wasn't really about me so it's not something you should apologize to me for. You two fighting didn't tear the family apart. That was Dad and whatever the fuck was wrong with him for deciding that it was okay to just throw his child out onto the street. To do that ever, really, that is now how you tell someone to move out and certainly not before they're an adult!"

"No, I know that," Stan said. "It might have taken me awhile to be able to look at it like that but I get that now."

"Then what is it?" Shermie asked gently.

"I called you…what, once since it happened?" Stan asked. "Told you that I was going to be fine and not to worry about me."

"You told me that you weren't going to mess everything up anymore," Shermie corrected. "I didn't think that."

"You tried asking me where I was," Stan recalled. "And I just couldn't…I didn't know what that meant and I couldn't deal with the idea of you being concerned so I just hung up."

"I wanted you to come stay with me," Shermie said. "We didn't have a lot of money but we'd have made do."

"I'm sorry I didn't take you up on that. I'm sorry I never called. I called Ma, sometimes, but not you. You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

"No, I shouldn't have," Shermie agreed. "But neither should you. I was worried because I didn't know if you were alive or dead? You were in a situation where that was a valid worry for me. It wasn't like I was freaking out because you were away at college and never called. You were thrown out of the house and you were so young and you barely had anything and I knew nothing about what had happened to you. Plus you were always a terrible liar when it came to the things that really mattered."

"I know," Stan said, gripping the phone so tightly that it hurt. "And I'm sorry. I didn't think about what you were going through, not hearing anything."

"And you didn't need to worry," Shermie said firmly. "I was upset because I was worried about you. You're the one actually living all of that."

Ford cleared his throat awkwardly. "I guess this is the part where I apologize as well."

"For what?" Shermie asked. "Not staying in better contact? If you'd like to fix that in the future that'd be great but I wasn't really all that worried about you, Ford. You got what you wanted and you were off at work. You've always been hard to pry away from your studies. I didn't take it personally."

Ford sighed and looked at Stan. "Yes, well, I'm trying to make up for some of my mistakes, too. I could have picked up the phone. It wouldn't have taken all that much time to just call you once a month or so. I must admit, it didn't really occur to me to do that."

"Let's not place all the blame for that on you," Shermie insisted. "I could have called more often than I did. Unlike with Stanley, I actually had your number."

"You did call a few times," Ford said.

"You just always sounded so vague and distracted. I didn't want to bother you if you didn't want to talk to me," Shermie said. "I know I'm not as exciting as all your monster research or whatever."

Ford closed his eyes. "Yes, well, sometimes not exciting is a good thing. You've heard of the ancient curse 'may you live interesting times'?"

"Literally never," Shermie said. "What's it mean?"

"When things are boring, that means everything is at peace. There's stability. You don't really learn about that period in history. When things are interesting it might make for a better story but there's usually upheaval and death. Sure everyone loves learning about World War 2 but would any of us have wanted to live it? How about the Civil War? The Revolutionary War? I really do think I could use a bit less excitement in my life."

Shermie laughed. "Shermie Pines: at least he doesn't bring about death and destruction."

"That's more than I can say about some things in my life, is all," Ford said.

"Is that so."

"We've got it under control," Stan assured him.

"Sometimes, when I called, things got a little…weird," Shermie confided.

"Weird?" Ford asked, looking almost as if he didn't even want to know. "Weird how?"

"Just…kind of manic. Almost like you were on drugs. Asking me weird questions about how painful I thought bizarre injuries would be. Wondering if you should get a Mohawk. I was very against that, by the way, and I think I managed to talk you down. Not that I'd know as I haven't seen you in ten years. I wasn't sure if it was drugs or just being a scientist. I've heard some pretty crazy stories. And you should have heard the kinds of things Rachel got up to at nursing school."

"I, uh, that wasn't drugs it was…it was complicated." Ford cleared his throat. "But thank you for saving me from a Mohawk. We, uh, worked it out. It won't happen again."

"I hope not," Shermie said. "It was actually a little creepy."

"So when are you going to come up and visit us?" Stan asked, jumping in.

"Visit you? When are you going to come and visit me?" Shermie countered. "You're the ones who wouldn't have anything to do with me because you were too busy getting caught up in your own problems."

"Yeah but you live like eight hours away," Stan protested.

"I know."

"There are two of and only one of you," Stan pointed out.

"You know, we can just-" Ford started to say.

"Hold on, Ford, I've got this," Stan interrupted.

"No, I want to hear what he has to say," Shermie said.

"Yeah well you would."

"What about Rachel and the kids?" Shermie challenged.

"You have more than one kid?" Ford asked, confused. "When did that happen?"

"I, uh, also did not know about that," Stan lied.

There was a silence. "You know what? Give me a few weeks and we are heading down. We'll stay for a week. We'll stay for a month. You will literally never get rid of us."

"Isn't that going a little far?" Ford asked, alarmed.

Stan patted his arm. "Oh, he just gets excited. We're looking forward to seeing you, Shermie."

"If either of you tries to quietly kick me out of your life again, I'm employing Stan's method of just never leaving until you change your mind," Shermie informed them.

"I just think that that's not really the best way to-"

"Let him have this," Stan said.

"I know when I'm being humored," Shermie said but he sounded amused.

"Isn't it your older brother prerogative to be humored?" Stan asked rhetorically.

"I don't know if that's true but, you know what, I'll take it," Shermie said. "I don't know when I'll see you but it'll be as soon as I can make everyone's schedule fit."

"We'll see you then," Ford said. Despite what he'd said earlier, he was smiling.

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

"So?" Stan asked him.

"I think…I'm glad we did that, Stan," Ford said. "It wouldn't have occurred to me but that was good and I do want to see them. I need to figure out how many children Shermie actually has. I hadn't realized I was that far out of the loop. That was…that was a good idea."

"I do have my moments."


	12. Chapter 12

Note: There was some confusion last chapter. We're still in the early 1980s. Shermie is Mabel and Dipper's grandfather. The kids referred to are Mabel and Dipper's father and any siblings he may have. Mabel and Dipper would have been born in 1999 for them to be turning 13 in 2012.

* * *

"So…how do you feel about having an adventure?" Stan asked brightly.

Ford glanced up from the cryptogram he was translating. "That would depend entirely on what kind of adventure you're talking about."

"Where's your adventurous spirit?" Stan asked.

Ford crossed his arms. "Stan, you have a bad habit of referring to everything as an adventure. Especially things that you know I won't want to do."

"Oh, I do not."

Ford began to count off on his fingers. "Remember that time you deciding to go sailing at the local lake? Or that time the washing machine broke and we had to do laundry in town? Or that time you wanted to get a new television? Or that time you picked a fight with Bud Gleeful for no apparent reason even though he's way too young for you to fight? Or that time you-"

"Okay, okay, we get it!" Stan interrupted, holding up his hands.

"I'm just saying, all of those were referred to by you as being an adventure," Ford said.

"Well this one is a _real_ adventure," Stan said. "Not that that boat one wasn't. That thing was _so_ not seaworthy."

"I did try to tell you that."

"And yet you got in anyway," Stan said. "That's love right there."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Someone had to stop you from drowning."

"I am a _way_ better swimmer than you are, though," Stan argued.

"I stand by my decision."

"Whatever. The point is, I'm worried about Fiddleford."

"Fiddleford is an adventure?" Ford asked, his body language immediately shutting down. "I didn't know a person could be an adventure. Are you talking about dating? Because I'm not the best person to ask about that, even not considering my…history with him."

That might be something to look into later.

Stan snorted. "That'll be the day."

How would you even go about trying to date someone that you're fairly certain will still end up living in the dump one day because he won't stop destroying his own damn mind? Stan was not looking to be a love martyr, thank you very much. He'd do what he could but the responsibility for saving Fiddleford was ultimately on Fiddleford.

"Are you trying to invite him along on an adventure because you're worried about him?" Ford guessed.

"No. Although, seriously, he needs to build his tolerance back up about these things. It's like that one time where I developed a severe alcohol aversion after going to a party and doing like twenty shots. It took _years_ before I could stand to take another shot and the amount of money I wasted on alcohol I couldn't end up drinking very much of…" Stan shook his head at the memory. "He's not going to want to get back on this horse, given his trauma, but as long as he's going to live in Gravity Falls he's either going to have to get used to it or not stop until he's erased his whole goddamn mind."

Ford looked alarmed. "He wouldn't…Fiddleford wouldn't go that far."

"Intentionally?" Stan asked. "Perhaps not. But like I said, I'm worried about him."

"You talk to him more often than I do," Ford said. "The one time I've seen him recently you were there for it. We mostly argued about what he did to me and what I did to the entire universe until you forced us to make small talk." He made a face.

"What?" Stan asked. "Surely you can't hate small talk _that_ much."

"No, that's not it. Although, for the record, I do. Do you know how annoying it is when people ask how you're doing and then don't care? Or how are you and the only valid response is 'fine'? What's even the point in wasting time like that?"

Stan snorted. "Yeah, I can see how you'd be a big hit at parties. People are just being nice."

"But that's just it," Ford insisted. "They think they are but they're not. What's nice about asking someone how they are and then if they actually answer saying 'I was just being nice.' Or not telling you that they don't want anything to do with you so just driving you crazy slowly pulling out of your life and hoping you'll take the hint so they don't have to actually say something. And when they do, they say 'Oh, I was just trying to be nice' as though that makes them the heroes and they're shaming you just because when they swear up and down everything's fine you believe them when they were flat-out lying to you and being emotional cowards."

"Okay…" Stan said slowly. He supposed it shouldn't surprise him, especially since Ford didn't go to a nerd school, that his transition from being utterly alone to actually having friends hadn't been entirely a smooth one. "Small talk can be done wrong and some people think they are far nicer than they actually are. If someone has to say the words 'I was just being nice' they were, in fact, not being nice. But you said that that wasn't it."

"No, it wasn't," Ford said. "I just realized that what I said, he tried to do something inexcusable to me while I nearly destroyed the world, makes it sound like I committed the bigger transgression than him."

"And you…don't feel that way?" Stan ventured.

"Of course I don't," Ford said. "Though I'm hardly objective, am I? He would have erased my memory. I view that as a form of murder, whether you agree or not."

"I do," Stan confirmed.

"While what I did may be more far-reaching, I think intent is the big thing. He had every intention of doing that to me, even though he knew what I felt about it. And then what he said to me after it didn't work…As for me, it was an accident."

One day he'd be able to hear the word 'accident' and not remember the accident that ruined everything and set them all on this path. Today was not that day. Maybe it would never come, if forty years wasn't enough time to wash that slate clean. "Accidents don't mean that something didn't happen."

"No, I know that. Which is why maybe he's right and what I did was worse. But I never meant to do it, at least. And while we keep disagreeing about these fundamental issues, I don't see how I'm supposed to talk to him. While I blame him and he blames me, there's really no way around it that I can see."

"Time might help," Stan advised. "Half the time when I see him we end up arguing about the society. And I see him all the time. But then, he's never tried to use it on me. That…I know of. But I guess that's really just something I'll have to take his word for. This whole thing is pretty creepy, isn't it? And while I may annoy him by constantly questioning his ethics, he has nothing to really hold against me. It's easier."

Ford swallowed. "I can imagine. Is there something going on that I don't know about? Why are you worried about him and what does it have to do with an adventure?"

Stan stared at him. "Ford, I'm worried about him because he saw something so horribly traumatic that I can't even begin to guess at that he felt the need to create a device to erase his own memories. Because despite having no idea what he saw, he still can't feel safe. Because he thinks he can live in a place like Gravity Falls and still avoid remembering anything weird that he sees. Because he's beginning to have side effects but he insists it's not generalizable because it's only happening to him so why not use the gun on others? Because he founded this society where he's giving other people the power to erase memories and probably not monitoring them closely enough. Because he's making the decision for other people whether or not they're allowed to remember things. Because we don't know any long-term effects. Because as sketchy as his concept of consent seems to be, if he was willing to make an exception for you then I'm worried he might make another exception and erase someone's memory pretty clearly against their own will for the greater good. I'm worried because I don't have a metal plate in my head and I have no intention of getting one so I could fall victim to this group at some point, even if Fiddleford wouldn't necessarily be the one pulling the trigger."

Ford was quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "But…most of that's been true since long before you came into town."

"And, what, that means it's not something to be concerned about? Ford, if you ever fall asleep outside of the Mys-your house," Stan amended when he saw Ford raising an eyebrow at him, "then Bill can still fuck with you in your sleep. And he could conceivably do this for the rest of your life. Which means either your travel options are extremely limited or you're going to have some very bad nights."

"No, I'm not saying that the fact it's been the status quo for a few months means it's nothing to be concerned about. Of course it is. But why bring this up now? What's changed?"

What had changed? Not much on the Fiddleford front. Perhaps he finally started to realize just how difficult changing his mind was going to be. He hadn't really known a whole lot about why he had done that the first time around and now he did and he didn't exactly know what he expected. Did he think he could just calmly explain what an idiot Fiddleford was being and he'd listen? Well clearly that wasn't happening.

And he hadn't wanted to risk anything by bringing Ford into it before they had reached some sort of an understanding. But now he was feeling a little bit secure in their newly reforged relationship and he didn't know how much longer they had until Fiddleford went too far and there was no stopping this. It had happened sometime in 1982, he remembered. There was a month and a half less of 1982 now than there was when he started. He was running out of time. He couldn't remember exactly when it had happened as it hadn't been until 1984 when he started to muster up the slightest bit of interest in the world around him again.

The thing was, Stan liked Fiddleford. Oh, he always felt both amused by and bad for Old Man McGucket but he actually liked Fiddleford, too. He didn't know if he should be surprised by that. The man was turning Gravity Falls into some kind of hidden dystopia, after all. And Stan should know better. He knew what was probably going to happen. But somehow he had gotten pulled into this (though by who, he couldn't say. Fiddleford certainly didn't want him involved) and now he was invested. He didn't know how he could stand watching it happen.

And Ford! As angry as Ford was, Stan knew that he felt even guiltier. And if he did nothing and even started to put his own life back together while leaving Fiddleford alone and then he went too far and destroyed his own sanity…Stan really didn't want to see the effect that would have on his brother. He had always held himself to such a high standard that was so hard to live up to.

"Stan?" Ford asked.

Stan blinked and realized that Ford had stood up and came to stand in front of him.

"What happened?" Ford asked again.

"I don't know that anything's really changed," Stan said slowly. "Just that I can't keep watching this. I don't know how much he's used it on himself since I got to town. He hasn't forgotten me and, for now, he still remembers Bill but I'm getting worried. One of these days, if nothing changes, he'll overuse that device. He'll just erase his whole damn memory. Or maybe it will kill him. Who can say? Certainly not him. And the worst part is he's doing this because of decisions he doesn't even remember making so he's constantly struggling between trusting his past self and not understanding why he's even doing this. He knows what he's doing. But he either won't stop or he can't."

Ford's face was pale. "I had no idea that it had gotten this serious."

"Of course not. He's hardly running through town inviting everyone to his raccoon marriage," Stan said dismissively.

Ford blinked. "That's oddly specific."

"Oh, every detail is oddly specific," Stan replied. "Doesn't matter. The point is, we're going to have to do something if we want to save him from himself. So I guess my next question is, despite everything that's happened between you, do you want to save him from himself?"

"Of course I do!" Ford looked insulted to even be asked. And Stan figured he would be but he had to be sure. "I may be upset still but I-I have some experience with losing your mind. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, let alone the closest friend I've ever had."

"One of these days you and me are going to figure out relationships," Stan said bluntly.

Ford let out a startled laugh. "Yeah, one of these days. Right after we figure out how to save Fiddleford from himself and maybe see if we can do anything to make us safer from Bill. So what do you have in mind?"

"As long as that stupid cult is around, we're never going to truly be able to get Fiddleford away from them," Stan said. "Even if we erased his memory. And I'm really wary about erasing his memory again. It might be safe, just erasing how to create a memory gun, but on the other hand I don't want to be the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Agreed. It would be easier if he didn't know how but the risk is too great. We don't want to try and save him only to end up making it worse," Ford said. "I take it you are suggesting that we get rid of this society? Because I've never trusted them. I don't trust people with that much power. It is almost certain that if they haven't all abused their power by now then they will in the future. A memory erasing gun is like erasing the consequences of their actions."

"We are going to have to," Stan agreed. "And we could just destroy the guns but even that might not be enough. There might be some more we don't know about. We could be putting targets on our backs. I'm still vulnerable to memory erasure and even if you aren't, that doesn't mean there's nothing they can do to you. And I'm not suggesting these people are cold-blooded killers but, well, this memory cult stuff is pretty dark so who even knows? They could go to Fiddleford for more and that would just defeat the whole purpose."

Ford stilled. "Are you suggesting we erase their memory of the society?"

"I know that that's, shall we say, morally ambiguous. Maybe even outright morally bankrupt. It goes right into 'how do you kill people to show killing people is wrong' territory. But I think there's a difference here. If we can stop Fiddleford from going out and recruiting more people, we only have to do this once. We just have to find the people and make them forget all of this and they can't hurt anyone anymore. There won't be new people stepping in to fill their shoes."

"I don't like erasing their memories against their will," Ford said frankly. "It's the whole reason I find them so despicable in the first place and why I'm angry with Fiddleford."

"I know," Stan said. "But what are our alternatives? How else do we stop them? Killing them? Would that be better? That seems a little drastic. And think of all the memories we'll be saving. All the abuses we'll be preventing."

Ford frowned. "That sounds like you're trying a little too hard to justify this, Stanley."

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," Stan admitted. "Since I first came across Fiddleford like my second day here. But I haven't made any solid plans. Ultimately, I don't think it matters if I can justify it or not. But I've gotten pretty good at justifying some pretty bad things so take that for what it's worth. I just…I really think this is the best answer. And I don't know if I can pull it off without your help. But ultimately it is up to you."

Ford sighed. "I don't like this," he said again. "I really don't. I have enough reasons to feel like a hypocrite. But then, what's one more? I just feel like it's the start of a slippery slope."

"Careful about that slippery slope thing," Stan said. "That's a, what's the word, a fallacy. You do something a little bad and it _could_ be the start of getting used to doing things like that and before you know it you're doing unspeakable things. Or you could draw a line in the sand, say you're not going any farther, and just stop right there even if you're tempted to one day go farther. It's not a guarantee. That's why you have to be careful."

"In a way, I feel responsible for the fact there's even a cult of memory erasers running around Gravity Falls in the first place," Ford said.

Stan frowned at him. "And why's that?"

"I didn't listen. I trusted the wrong people. I didn't make sure Fiddleford's leg wasn't tied up in the rope before activating the portal. Pick a reason. But if I had made different choices, Fiddleford never would have done what he did."

"That may be true," Stan acknowledged. "Though don't forget his role as founder. I don't think it's your fault but I get it."

"I want to fix this. And," Ford took a deep breath. "Even if I'm still not over what happened, I want to try and help him. I owe him that much."

Stan smiled, glad they were on the same page, even if it wasn't a page either of them particularly wanted to be on. "Let's get to work then."


	13. Chapter 13

Unsurprisingly, Stan knew far more about the festivals of Gravity Falls than Ford did. He rather suspected that that would be true even if he didn't have thirty years of experience with them.

"I don't understand," Ford told him. "Why does Gravity Falls have a festival where they all build as many storm troopers as they can?"

"Because it looks fucking amazing," Stan said. "And the mayor really liked that movie. And I actually want to catch the end of that once we're done here."

"It might give us an alibi," Ford said slowly, nodding.

"But you know that that has nothing to do with why I want to go, right?" Stan asked.

"Yeah, that was pretty clear. Not so clear is why the Society of the Blind Eye seems to be meeting in the Gravity Falls history museum."

Stan shrugged. "I don't know. But this place is weird and creepy and not at all romanticizing the past so they probably don't get many visitors. Plus, I mean, who even cares about Gravity Falls history? Certainly not the locals and tourists are more interested in, say, getting a quick meal or seeing a three-headed cat than looking at the local lore. Though, really, if I had to pick a history museum for a small town Gravity Falls would be far more interesting than any other place."

"We're not setting up a tourist trap in my house," Ford informed him.

Stan held up his hands innocently. "I didn't say anything!"

"Just reminding you," Ford said.

"If I were a secret entrance, where would I be?" Stan said, looking around.

"Oh, don't say that," Ford said. "It's inane. In all probability, there has never been a sentient secret entrance and if there was one you wouldn't know how it thinks. And chances are it wouldn't have had a say where it was put, either. You'd have to ask yourself if you were hiding a secret entrance, where would you put it. And you would also need some sort of knowledge of the architecture of the building to see where the best spot for that would be, too."

"You are so much fun sometimes, you know that?"

Eventually, they made it to a creepy room filled with nothing but eyes.

"Yeah, I don't need to be here," Stan said, turning to go.

"Wait," Ford said, grabbing his arm. "Is it just me or are all the eyes pointing in the same direction?"

"It's just you," Stan replied. "On account of the fact I don't like looking at creepy eyes."

"Well, just hold on a minute," Ford said. He walked forward. "It looks like it's pointing to…I've seen this symbol before. I'm pretty sure it's associated with the society." He paused. "I'm going to press it."

Stan turned around, trying to ignore all the eyes taunting him. At least they weren't really pointed towards him, Ford was right about that. "Are you crazy? You can't just press it. That's just asking for some sort of trap to activate and kill us all."

Ford paid no attention and pressed the icon.

There was a noise and they both turned towards it in time to see the fireplace, which was actively burning, slide aside to reveal a secret passage.

Ford's eyes lit up. "I _love_ secret passages."

"We are both going to die," Stan complained.

"Hey, weren't you the one who wanted me to come on an adventure with you?"

"Yeah but that was before I realized that you actively court death," Stan grumbled.

Ford chuckled. "Don't be silly, Stan. I'm not Thanos."

"Let's just pretend that makes sense," Stan said, rolling his eyes.

They carefully crept down the hidden passageway. Just because everyone in town should be at the festival didn't necessarily mean that they were. They pulled back a red curtain with the eye symbol on it to find what sort of looked like a stereotypical dungeon with everything made of stone.

There was some sort of weird dentist chair in the middle of it.

"Restraints," Ford said disgustedly. "Why are there restraints if this is so fucking _voluntary_ , Fiddleford?"

"I hope the guns are in this chest," Stan said. "It's not even locked."

He popped it open and took out a gun.

"Excellent. With this we can try and figure out how this works and recalibrate it so we can hit multiple targets at once and take out the entire society," Ford said, pleased.

"And we'll need to work as fast as we can – and by we, I really mean you, this is your area – before the society misses this," Stan said. "I don't know about anyone else but Fiddleford will definitely suspect our involvement since nobody else knows about these things."

"Honestly, I don't know if he told the rest of the society about me," Ford said. "It was just him when he came after me. I guess it was a little personal. He confronted me in my home; he never dragged me down here."

Stan thought about it. "Personal might be good. Personal might mean he still cares and we have a way to get through to him without trying to erase his memory. I mean, fuck all these other people happy to play god with people's memories but I can't even imagine the kind of things Fiddleford's seen. I'm convinced that he, at least, just wants to help."

Ford sighed, looking suddenly older. "That's how it always goes, doesn't it? The most damage is done by the ones who only want to help."

Stan knew what he meant. Just the same…

"And then there's Bill who causes the most damage of all who I'm pretty sure is just a dick."

* * *

It took Ford three days before he was confident that he understood exactly how the memory gun would work and could recalibrate it to work on multiple people but not on Stan. Stan thought he was taking far longer than he actually needed to given that he remembered Ford managing to recalibrate it in about two minutes once after getting less time to study it. But that was in 2012 after Ford had picked up on all sorts of things in other dimensions.

They waited another week to actually go after the cult because the perfect opportunity had dropped into their lap.

Tate was apparently in his school play or something ridiculous like that and Fiddleford was driving down to go watch it and then staying a few days. That gave them a guarantee he wouldn't be present and then a few days before what happened was discovered.

The next step was to have a hapless townsperson see something and alert the society to this fact. Stan still wasn't entirely sure how they even knew when to show up but they did and often enough. And if their first attempt didn't work, they had a few days they could hang around waiting for the society.

He and Ford had argued about whether it was really necessary to involve an innocent townsperson in this and risk having their memory erased (as well as whatever might happen to them with a forced encounter with typical Gravity Falls weirdness) and ultimately decided it was the only way to be sure the entire society would be there at once.

There were eight of them excluding Fiddleford. Blind Ivan (who was now going by Jeffrey Cannuck and had far less tattoos) and that weird woodpecker guy (whose name he should really figure out since no one understood why he kept calling him that as he did not appear to have developed his woodpecker thing yet or at least was deeply in the closet) were the only two who he knew were still members when Dipper and Mabel had destroyed the society. If not all of them showed up they could pick off the last one or two individually but it really was best to try and hit them all at once so there was no way they could figure out what was happening before it was too late.

They could have chosen anyone to be the bait. Ford literally couldn't have cared less and still knew appallingly little about the people in town and so it was up to Stan.

He chose Bud Gleeful. He couldn't resist. He really hated that guy and he hated Gideon more but he didn't exist yet so he had to make do with what he had. It was like how Dipper always chose Robbie for that kind of stuff. And he'd be _fine_. Probably.

Then they just had to tell the gnomes that Bud was actually a beautiful princess looking for a kingdom to marry into and give them direction to his house that led past the shop of one of the members and they were set. Gnomes were _stupid_.

When the society showed up, Bud had the situation well in hand. He was busy picking up the gnomes with a shovel and tossing them away. They tried to stagger back to him but they kept getting dizzy and disoriented and falling down.

"Remarkable," Ford muttered, scrawling furiously in his journal. "Shovels. Why didn't I ever think of that?"

"Probably because you were looking for real weaknesses like 'can't be out in sunlight' or something, not just 'these people are tiny and easily kicked' or whatever."

"Kicking!" Ford continued to write.

"Yeah, yeah, and leaf blowers," Stan said. "Keep it down, will you? Hey, uh, are you really not bothered that _Bud Gleeful_ of all people managed to figure out how to beat gnomes when you didn't?"

"Why would I be?" Ford asked, looking confused. "I didn't get mad at you because you figured out how to beat the unicorns and I didn't. I was mad at myself for falling for their scam, sure, but not at you."

"Yeah but, even if that was when I first got here, I'd like to think me figuring something out that you didn't isn't as bad as _Bud Gleeful_ doing it."

"I have to admit, Stanley, I don't quite understand what your issue with this man is. He seems like a perfectly normal person."

Stan shrugged. "I can just sense that he'll be a terrible parent and husband and have evil offspring is all."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Oh, if that's all. But no, it doesn't bother me that other people can figure out things that I haven't. Why would it?"

"Because you're the Author of the Journals."

"I really don't understand why you keep saying it like that or making it out like it's something big," Ford said.

"Never mind," Stan said. "But you're the one who has spent six years studying this stuff. Bud is an idiot and I arrived here a few weeks ago."

"Yes but the way I see it, I'm a sort of pioneer. Not to sound vain, but look at Sigmund Freud. How many of his theories haven't been discounted or modified in some way? Does that take away from his brilliance or his importance? When you're the first there will always be things that you get wrong. When you're the first, there will always be holes in your research that other people can come along and find the answers for. I figure out five things and miss one and then maybe you see one question to be answered and can answer it. I'm just glad that the questions _are_ getting solved."

"You are such a nerd."

Ford just rolled his eyes again. "Okay, let's go."

The society, all dressed in those really creepy death cult robes, had chased the gnomes away and were in the process of kidnapping Bud.

"I don't know," Stan said suddenly. "Should we wait until they get him back there?"

"What do you mean?" Ford asked. "That was the plan. I see no reason not to stick with the plan."

"Yeah except we have the gun ready now. Why follow them all the way back and risk getting caught when we can just point and shoot now? And this way we have less of a story we need to concoct if we don't have to explain what that room is. And they won't be able to go back to investigate. I mean, yeah, Bud is in the blast radius but he might be anyway and if we erase 'the Society of the Blind Eye' he doesn't know anything about it so he won't forget anything. Or…he might forget that he's being kidnapped, I guess, if he makes the connection or if the gun doesn't require him to make that connection."

"Or…we could just do that," Ford said, nodding. "Right." He stood up and pointed his gun at them.

They had argued over who got to shoot them. Stan had lost that fight.

"What's-" one of the members started to say.

Ford pulled the trigger and a blue-white light enveloped the society and Bud.

"Okay, what's going on now?" Bud complained. "I get attacked by all these little men who want to marry me and think they know my gender better than I do, which is just rude, and then these weirdos try to kidnap me and now you shoot me with some weird light thing?"

"I guess that answers that question," Stan muttered.

"I'm, uh, testing a scientific thing," Ford said, clearing his throat loudly. "Does having a bright light shined in your face make you feel less depressed?"

"I wasn't depressed to begin with," Bud said. "Just confused. And annoyed."

"I feel less depressed," one woman said.

Three other society members agreed that they did, as well.

Gravity Falls. You had to love it.

Ford looked pointedly at Stan, apparently having felt he had done his part when it came to giving them a cover story. That was fine. Stan was better at this sort of thing anyway.

"Oh man, your face!" he said, laughing wildly. "Man, why didn't I bring a camera? This needed pictures!"

"What needed pictures?" Bud demanded. "I was being kidnapped."

"Nah, don't be ridiculous. We just were drinking a lot and we decided, hey let's do something fun! And, really, it was either dress up in creepy robes and pretend to kidnap someone or cow-tipping and, I mean, come on. Standards."

"I don't feel drunk," Blind Ivan said.

Stan just shrugged. "It's the shock of being accused of trying to kidnap someone. That's a felony, right? Sobers you right up."

Ford stepped forward again. "I will also need to look into if my depression lessener can have an effect on a person's blood alcohol level."

"I don't remember drinking," the not-woodpecker guy said.

Stan rolled his eyes pointedly. "Might that be because of how drunk you got? I mean, really. What do you remember?"

"Um, well…I was going out somewhere," he said.

"To go drinking. Which we did. And I've never kind of kidnapped a person before but of course we couldn't actually take him because that would be illegal. Now, I need my robes back," Stan said. "Nobody ask where or why I got them. I've seen things."

Everyone took off their robes and were fortunately wearing something under them.

"So, wait," another one of the members said. "Was he out drinking with us?" She nodded at Ford.

"No, no," Stan said. "He was wandering around testing his invention, remember? He doesn't believe in having fun."

"That's overstating it a little," Ford said. "I don't hold with pretending to kidnap people, though."

"See? What did I tell you?" Stan asked rhetorically.

"But what about those little men?" Bud asked, confused.

"What am I, a magic eight-ball?" Stan asked, annoyed. "Look, buddy, I have no idea what you saw or thought you saw. Consult your local…whoever it is you consult about these things, okay? Maybe they were just kids. Did you attack them? Were you attacking children?"

He let a little bit of accusation spill into his voice at the end and quickly the former cult members were all glaring suspiciously at him.

"Uh, did I say little men? What I meant was…you guys are jerks and next time go fake kidnap someone else!" With that, he stormed off.

Stan laughed nervously. "Uh, maybe next time we don't try to kidnap anybody. Maybe that wasn't as funny as we all thought it would be."

After a few more minutes, they were able to get rid of the group.

"Nicely done," Ford complimented.

Stan grinned and puffed out his chest. "What can I say? Lying to people is kind of my specialty. And the more outrageous the better. People might catch you in a smaller lie but after a while no one can believe you'd try and convince them of something so obviously not true so they just assume it must be. Kind of backwards logic that something is so ridiculous and obviously fake that it must be true but, what can I say? I ain't complaining."

"We're going to need to go back to the headquarters and clear out their belongings as well as confiscating any memory guns," Ford said. "I don't know if Fiddleford will be able to rebuild them or not but we cannot in good conscience just leave them lying around. We might as well have just let the society continue to operate if we were going to be that careless. And it's _really_ not that hard to figure out how to get in there."

"Maybe not for us," Stan said. "But I think I half-convinced Bud Gleeful he was picking up children with his shovel and throwing them."

"There is that. Honestly, just the fact that you were able to convince them that getting drunk and deciding to go and kidnap somebody is something that was a plausible possibility for them is giving me all sorts of bad feelings about this."

"Yeah, I mean, part of it could just be I'm very good at what I do but this kind of absolute power really isn't good for people," Stan said. "I mean, I know that I for one am already feeling myself go mad with power."

Ford laughed. "Yes, we'll need to destroy these guns."

"Maybe keep one around just in case," Stan hedged. "But only using it if we literally have no other choice like, say, the government is coming to arrest us for something. Not for anything like a rogue unicorn encounter."

"Gravity Falls…" Ford marveled, shaking his head. "Every time I turn around it gets even more fascinating! I'm never going to be done studying this town."

Stan stared up at the sky. "This is the place I willingly spend my time."


	14. Chapter 14

It took two days after Fiddleford returned to town before he came to them, eyes flashing.

Stan rather considered that a good sign. It meant that it had taken him two whole days to realize that his little cult was no more and that his memory guns had been confiscated and his secret hideout shut down. It meant that he wasn't in too deep just yet and he might have been trying to pull back given what he and Stan had been discussing.

They had discovered some alarming things in the society records. Some of the members had indeed been pushing for a more liberal application of the memory erasure while Fiddleford, mindful as always of what had brought him to that point, continued to insist that it should only be used to help people who wished to forget.

It made him wonder about that accident that was supposed to happen sometime in the next few months. Was it truly an accident, truly a result of erasing his memory one too many times? He knew that the McGucket he knew had been rendered immune from the gun because his mind was already broken or whatever. He knew it had been a steady slide down before he had lost everything all at once.

But why had the society been so quick to abandon one of their own? That was Dipper's question. He had thought maybe they just erased their guilt and the knowledge of who he was but why? What did they have to feel guilty about? Watching Fiddleford destroy himself? Was it even an accident? Why had they just left him with nothing and not tried to offer him any aid as he was forced to live in the dump?

Well, other than the fact that they were all terrible people. That much couldn't be denied.

Had there been a coup? Had they decided that they were going to police who was and was not permitted to remember the supernatural whether they wanted to forget or not?

He couldn't imagine Fiddleford, stubbornly principled even as he was wrong, agreeing to that.

And somehow, Blind Ivan had either erased his other life or his connection to the society had been too deep to allow him to remember anything else once its existence had been erased from his mind. (If he were in charge of such a society, not that he would ever do something so stupid, rule one would have been no using the gun on yourself. That's just kids' stuff.) Stan still rather thought allowing Mabel to name him…whatever that was…was a form of cruelty but it was a little late to be worrying about that now. He was still Jeffrey now.

Fiddleford was so angry, it seemed, that he actually barged into the house for the first time since he had tried to erase Ford's memory which had been the first time since he had quit their project (and, Ford loudly complained, had refused to actually give his reasoning for wanting the portal shut down and making Ford figure it out for himself then getting mad Ford hadn't immediately agreed the second shutting it down had been first suggested).

"Oh, hey, Fiddleford."

"Don't 'oh, hey' me," Fiddleford snapped. "What did you do?"

Stan and Ford exchanged a glance.

"Would you like to be more specific?" Ford asked.

"Don't play dumb," Fiddleford said. "It's beneath you."

"And I would have thought it was beneath you to form a cult dedicated to police the memories of innocent people under the guise of helping them like something out of a dystopian novel but I guess we were both wrong," Ford said.

Stan winced. What Fiddleford had been doing was abhorrent to him in every way but he understood why the guy was doing it and he knew he would only end up hurting himself the most in the long run. And they had never met before sometime in the 1980s when he was already crazy and homeless and looked far older than he actually was. He had been Ford's friend and, well, when Ford's relationships ended they had a tendency to just wondrously implode. Not that that was Ford's fault necessarily; it was just the kind of thing that happened when the fate of the world was at stake or abusive fathers were involved.

He might have tried to calmly explain it to Fiddleford (while still not giving him any choice about it because it was a fait accompli) but evidently Ford was going to insist on behaving like an actual human being not from thirty years in the future and get emotional about it.

Fiddleford's face darkened. "So, what? You decide to protest the potential for erasing people's memories without their consent by erasing the memories of the Society of the Blind Eye? Exactly how consensual was that?"

"Not even a little."

Ford shot him a look.

"Well it wasn't…"

"Thank you, Stanley, for at least being honest with me," Fiddleford said. "I can see that I wasn't even going to get that much from Ford. Don't you dare try to claim that you have the moral high ground. You didn't before and you sure as fuck don't now."

"I did what I had to do to protect the people from your society."

"Yes, congratulations, you erased their memories. You took my guns. Well I can rebuild them. I can find new members. I could probably even convince those same people," Fiddleford said. "And what are you going to do about it? Erase my own memory."

"It wasn't a coincidence we struck when we knew you were gone," Stan said quietly.

Fiddleford laughed. "Oh, I see. I get special treatment because you know me. Because I was your friend."

"We're still friends," Stan insisted.

"We can talk about that some other time when you haven't just, what was that charming little term you used? Oh right, mind-raped eight people."

"It's not the same. This hasn't been going on for very long and it's not a chapter of their lives they should be proud of," Ford said. "They can go back to their normal lives and nothing has changed. They're not the problem."

Fiddleford laughed again. "And I am? Lovely. Brilliant, even. I'm the problem so I'm the one who doesn't have their memory of all of this erased. I'm the one with the idea, I'm the one who founded the society, I'm the one who can create the memory guns in the first place…Yes, I do seem to be the problem, don't I? And yet you waited for me to come to you."

"We didn't think it would do any good," Ford said bluntly. "Well, perhaps erasing your knowledge of how to create the memory gun might help but if you invented it once you can invent it again. You've already forgotten whatever it was you're afraid of and it's still not enough. You can't erase the visceral fear it planted in you and you've already taken a hatchet to your own memory. Who even knows what more you can take before something terrible happens?"

Stan gave a loud, put-upon sigh. "What my brother means, of course, is that we're both very worried about you. We wouldn't dare try and use the memory gun on you again because we don't know what would happen. And we respect you too much to force you."

Fiddleford crossed his arms, unimpressed. "And the others?"

"Well, we didn't actually erase Bud Gleeful's memory," Stan said. "I thought Jeffrey's name was Ivan and I don't actually know who those other people are. As Ford said, it's not the same. You're the one we ultimately want to convince but if we didn't shut that society down, convincing you wouldn't matter. You can't let people know that they could have that kind of power. Maybe some of them wouldn't abuse it, I don't know, but it's a bad idea."

Fiddleford stared at the ceiling. "I don't want to debate this with you. I'm tired of debating this. You've forced me to defend everything I've ever thought about the matter. Nothing has changed. You'll either force me not to recreate my society or you won't."

"Do you understand why we're so against the memory gun?" Ford asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Do you understand why we're so against the memory gun?" Ford asked again. "I don't agree that I'm so big a threat to Gravity Falls now that I've had my eyes opened to what Bill truly is and protected myself against him that I need to be taken out of the picture. I suppose I should be grateful you didn't feel I was a big enough threat to kill even if you would have basically lobotomized me."

"That's not-"

"I know why you think that. I don't agree but I do get it. Do you understand where we're coming from?"

"You worry about abuses and a lack of oversight. You think it's unnecessary as no one has seen whatever I have seen and they've been getting along just fine before the society. You view memory loss as akin to murder. You're worried about the effects it's had on me, the dependency I seem to be showing, and what will happen if I continue to use it. Of course I _understand_."

Stan jumped on that. "So if you know our concerns, you know they're not entirely without merit. You know what could happen. And I know you want to help people and let's not even look at whether you are. You just listed off the worst case scenario for rebuilding the society. What's the worst case scenario if you don't?"

Fiddleford hesitated. "I-I reckon there will be people who see things and it frightens them and they're forced to come up with their own answers."

"The people of Gravity Falls are _very good_ at that," Stan assured him. "We set gnomes after Bud Gleeful and then he was semi-abducted by the society then witnessed up erase their memories and it was not hard to convince him of what I wanted to convince him of."

"He may believe he's now a child abuser," Ford said. "But, strangely, I think he can live with that."

"Not that strangely," Stan said.

"Say I did accept that," Fiddleford said slowly, haltingly. "Say I did accept that I didn't need to bring the Society of the Blind Eye back, that people can manage on their own. That you two wouldn't just leave well enough alone and that I couldn't even take the notion from Ford's head."

"I like where this is going," Stan said.

"What about me, then? I can't stop. You know I can't."

"You haven't erased anything important since I came to town," Stan pointed out. "Believe me. I've checked."

"Maybe not anything big but I have used it. It…it's like an impulse, almost. Like a constant itch inside of your own mind that you can never scratch and never quite manage to forget about. I start to get twitchy if I have to go too long without it."

"Fiddleford," Ford said seriously, "what you're describing sounds very much like an addiction."

Fiddleford gave him a shaky smile. "Never let it be said that I'm not self-aware. But knowing and stopping are two very different things. And how exactly do you rid yourself of an addiction to a memory gun?"

Stan had asked himself that very question a hundred times. If nothing else, one day he wouldn't be able to use it anymore but he couldn't let it come to that. Not now. He was too invested. "Maybe the same way you fight any other addiction."

"A therapist? A rehab?" Fiddleford asked pointedly. "Good luck explaining all of this. I couldn't even tell you why."

"And yet you're willing to risk your mind, your very sanity for this?" Ford demanded. "My God, Fiddleford, you have a child."

Fiddleford's eyes flashed. "I'm keeping him well away from this."

"Cold comfort when you show up having destroyed your own mind one day," Ford shot back.

"It will be difficult," Stan said. "Especially as I'm not so sure it's the memory gun you're addicted to but trying to get relief from that trauma. Whatever it is I can't even imagine if not even having entirely forgotten it will let it leave you in peace. But please. You have to let us try to help."

Fiddleford was hugging himself, looking almost panicked. "And why should I do that? I barely even know you and you seem nice enough but we argue more than we don't and you had no problem taking out my society."

"You know me."

Fiddleford laughed sadly. "That's almost worse. I do know you, Ford. I know what you're capable of."

"Then you should know that I'm not capable of doing anything that you fear intentionally," Ford said. "You should know that I know the truth about Bill and I've learned the hard way what happens when you ignore the concerns of others. This place I safe. The portal is gone. Whatever you saw can't come after you. Let us try."

"And if I did then what? How would you even help me? I can't forget. _I can't forget_."

Ford and Stan looked at each other helplessly.

"There's no easy answer," Stan admitted. "I'm not mental health expert. And this is a completely new area anyway. We don't know what we're dealing with but we probably can't make it worse."

"Stay with us," Ford implored.

Fiddleford blinked rapidly. "Wh-what? We've barely spoken since…we've said so many terrible things…and what you two just did! Why would you-?"

"I regretted what happened," Ford said, staring at his hands. "You have to know how much I regretted it. I was a fool and the world nearly paid the price. I know that you did. And as for me…I don't even know what I would have done if Stan hadn't come when he did and insisted on staying. But being sorry doesn't change the fact that it happened. And it doesn't change the fact that I knew that you needed help and I just turned my back."

"I didn't ask for help," Fiddleford said, staring down at his own hands. "I did everything but. You wouldn't do what I asked and then you came to me when you realized the truth and _I_ turned _you_ down."

"That doesn't matter. I knew you weren't right. Who would erase their own memory if they were okay? Who would still be so jumpy?"

"I knew you weren't having an easy time of it, either," Fiddleford pointed out. "I knew that you were all alone and that Bill was still after you. Stan even told me you put a metal plate in your own head. And I know that I haven't really been able to face…anything, really, since it happened but I turned my back on you just as much. And all I wanted to do was blame you and I knew it wasn't fair but it was easier than the alternative. If I blamed you I didn't have to blame myself. I didn't have to face what was still happening. I mean, fuck, I walked away with you still under Bill's sway. What if you'd never seen the truth? It's not like I was trying to convince you."

"It wasn't your job to make me realize what I fool I was being," Ford insisted.

Stan felt like an outsider here. He knew Ford longer and better than Fiddleford ever had. He'd certainly had more of a relationship with Fiddleford than Ford had lately. And yet there was a whole history here that he just wasn't a part of, could never be a part of. They had known each other since college, right? Were they roommates? He could never remember.

And this was a talk that clearly needed to happen.

"Look, I think it's clear that everyone here has made some absolutely terrible decisions," Stan spoke up. "And I'll have you know I'm perfectly capable of making awful decisions that could destroy all life as we know it. Don't leave me out of your little club."

"It's not a club anyone should want to be in, Stan," Ford said, confused.

"Well I have. We can't change that. And we can try and hold onto that anger and just keep hating and hurting each other or we can try to get the fuck over it and move on," Stan said. "Ford and I pretty much have that down. I was never actually really angry with you, Fiddleford, so that really just leaves you and Ford. And Ford's made it clear he wants to help you so he's at least partially there. So what do you say, Fiddleford? Are you going to let us help you?"

"You just want me to move in. Just like that."

"It's not like it would be the first time," Ford pointed out.

"There's plenty of space," Stan said. "And it would only be however long you needed it to be. We just don't think that you should be alone right now. And after we kind of accidentally erased the memory of your cult members, you really don't have anyone else who even know what you're going through, let alone have any chance of understanding."

"Could you maybe stop calling them my cult members?"

"It's unlikely," Stan said bluntly.

"What about stop saying you accidentally did things that were completely intentional?"

"It's for effect," Stan insisted. "I don't think that anybody is actually confused here."

"Please, Fiddleford. We nearly broke the world. We nearly broke ourselves. We're getting a second chance here, as impossible as that seems, and I don't think we're going to be so lucky as to get a third," Ford said earnestly.

Stan would do literally whatever it took to make sure they got a thousand chances if that's what it took.

"I…It would be easy," Fiddleford said slowly.

"Nothing worth doing ever is," Ford said. "And that's not a no."

Fiddleford's gaze met his for the first time since he had arrived. "No. I don't suppose it is."


	15. Chapter 15

"All I'm saying," Stan said, "is that if this ends the same way it did last time then I reserve the right to quit the world."

"Quitting the world?" Ford asked. "That sounds a little like dying. No, actually, it sounds a lot like dying. Are you threatening to die if we get into another fight?"

"I think you mean 'if you randomly start shouting at me'," Stan said. "And you know what, I just might?"

Ford rolled his eyes. "Real mature, Stanley."

"I don't have to be mature," Stan said. "And, in fact, being immature could make you think twice about testing me in case I actually mean it."

"Even if you don't, I am a little worried about calling your bluff just in case you want to prove me wrong," Ford admitted.

Stan smirked.

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Didn't need to be," Stan said.

It had been a few days since Fiddleford had agreed to stay with them. He and Ford were pretending that they weren't keeping a close eye on him and Fiddleford was gracious enough to let them. They had no idea what they were doing. At least Stan didn't have any more difficulty talking to Fiddleford than he ever had (though he did have to scramble for some new things to talk about sometimes as they couldn't spend ages arguing about the ethics of memory erasure anymore). He and Ford were still a little awkward around each other but they were trying. Fortunately, Ford already had one successful reconciliation under his belt and his anger with Fiddleford didn't burn as hot as his anger with Stan. Technically, Fiddleford attempting to erase his memory without his consent and erasing everyone else's memory was a far bigger deal than breaking his project. But Ford's memory was fine while West Coast Tech had been taken from him.

It didn't matter.

The point was to smooth everything over anyway.

Ford had suggested a trip back to his favorite place in town, despite how badly it had ended last time. Stan wasn't so sure about that but it's not like he could just avoid Ford's favorite spot forever. Might as well just bite the bullet and go.

"I mean, it might help if you didn't plot out how you fully intend to turn my house into a tourist attraction," Ford suggested. "If you really wanted to make sure, you know."

Stan gave him a look. "I can't even believe you right now."

"It's just a suggestion," Ford said innocently.

Stan chuckled and shook his head. "You know, I think I'm starting to see it."

"Hm?"

"How this place reminds you of Glass Shard Beach. You know, that is a truly unfortunate name for a town. Whoever named it was clearly not thinking of tourists

"Whoever named it realized the town was located in New Jersey and there wasn't a chance in hell it wouldn't turn out to be a huge disaster so why try," Ford said dryly.

"That is true," Stan agreed. "But the last time we were here, I've got to admit, I didn't really see it. But then, I've been to a lot of lakefronts."

"But now you do?"

Stan smiled. "Yeah. Now I do. Maybe it's just the company, I don't know."

"The first time I saw this place, it was almost like travelling back in time."

"I am a little curious about that," Stan said.

"You are? Why?" Ford asked.

"It's just…you're not always the most sentimental of people. And you were pretty mad at me for a long time. I mean, ten years is a long time to go without speaking. And I know I didn't call you, either, but I was scared. You were angry. It's different. But you still saw our old home in this place. Being reminded of that still made this your favorite place in town. It's…just not what I expected, is all."

"No, I don't suppose it would be," Ford mused. "I don't know how to explain it myself. I don't view myself as a particularly sentimental person. I'm a scientist, after all, and while being a scientist is not necessarily at odds with being a sentimentalist it is not the most natural of pairings. Sentimentality and objectivity are two opposing worldviews, after all. But some things don't have to have a logical explanation. I don't need to explain why I like certain food or movies or spots in town. Some things just are and I'm not a psychologist to go looking for deeper meaning."

" _Good_ ," Stan said vehemently. "Because if you were a psychologist then, as much as I love you, I don't think this would work out. I'm not one of those assholes who think that psychologists have to, like, being psychoanalyzing people all the time but I do not need that kind of perception in my life. Do not need it."

"By which you probably mean you do need it but don't want it."

Stan shrugged. "Same difference, really."

"Why do you always say that?" Ford asked suddenly.

"Say what?"

"You just casually throw around that you love me," Ford said.

Stan blinked. Did he?

"You never used to say that kind of thing."

"Ten years is a long time, Ford." And forty even longer.

"And what in a decade of prison and homelessness and conning people would make you more…expressive?"

Mabel.

It was pretty much Mabel.

Soos had pretty obviously loved him long before the twins came to stay with him that summer but he respected Stan's boundaries enough not to say it.

He knew that Dipper loved him, too, but he was way too concerned with growing up and being manly (he had almost killed an innocent creature due to this obsession!) to ever say it.

Mabel had no such compunctions.

She was always saying things like 'Thanks for breakfast, Grunkle Stan. I love you' or 'I'm going over to Candy's house. I love you' and there was really only so much love being thrown around before he sort of got used to it.

Saying it was another matter but Stan had dedicated his life to helping Ford, what, three times by now? At least. He had spent thirty years trying to save him and would have spent longer. He even went back in time thirty fucking years to try and make things better. If he couldn't admit that he loved him then he wasn't going to be able to admit it about anyone (except probably Mabel but that was sheer persistence on her part).

It was easier when it was casual, not mushy declarations. But of course sooner or later Ford was going to want to _talk_ about it.

"Eh, what can I say?" Stan asked nonchalantly. "After a while you start to remember the things that matter. And if it's something that everyone knows, maybe you don't need to say it. But what harm does saying it do?"

"Well, I, uh, wanted to tell you that I…" Ford trailed off, looking deeply flustered.

Stan cocked his head curiously. "Yeah?"

Ford steeled himself. "I love you, too, Stanley. And while I'm sure that you do know that, you're right that sometimes these things do no harm to say."

Stan's face hurt. How strange.

"Okay, stop it."

"Stop what?" Stan asked.

"You look deranged," Ford said.

"I do not."

"I seriously feel like you're going to pick up an axe and start chopping me up."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sixer, where would I even get an axe?" Stan asked. He tried to, if not stop smiling altogether, at least tone it down some. He couldn't.

"I have faith in you, Stan."

"Probably the first time you've ever said that," Stan said, checking to see if his smile had dimmed at all. Nope.

"I'm just saying, that's really creepy."

"Oh, come on, let me have this," Stan said.

"I didn't react like this any of the times you've said it," Ford said, almost accusatorily.

Stan nodded. "And that is your right."

Honestly, Ford hadn't even managed to say the words to him after they had gotten things sorted between them in the present. Well, the future now. He wasn't sure if he did, either. It was painfully obvious but the words didn't come easy. No one could doubt how he felt after risking the world and spending thirty years retrieving Ford, even if he refused to be grateful (even if he might have had some valid reasons for feeling that way). And Ford had made it plenty clear how he felt by the end, too, even if for a while Stan couldn't decide if Ford outright hated him or just didn't give a damn. Even if he used to torture himself wondering which one would be worse.

Ford waited patiently for Stan to get himself under control.

"But, uh, yeah. I think what I was getting at before we got all sidetracked was that I was surprised, given our estrangement, that you were still able to look back so fondly on our childhood together."

"It wasn't as easy as that," Ford admitted. "I did like it here. I spent all the time here that I could. But I could only get nostalgic for so long before remembering. It's hard to miss something and resent it at the same time."

Stan snorted. "Preaching to the fucking choir."

"It feels…cleaner, now that you're here. I don't feel like maybe I don't deserve to be here."

"Well, good," Stan said. "I, uh, don't have glowing memories of back there. There's a lot that's tainted it. But I do have some. Like, did you know I used to have a boat?"

Ford frowned. "A boat other than the Stan o' War?"

"Well…yes and no," Stan said. "I always thought that was the perfect name for a boat, you see."

Ford's face softened. "Stan…"

Stan cleared his throat. "Well, yeah, that's me. What do you remember?"

"Mostly summer," Ford said. "Mostly the beach. Those were the best times of my life."

"Really?" Stan asked, surprised. "What about college? I mean, I know, Backupsmore but it was something, right? What about Gravity Falls?"

Ford grinned ruefully. "I think Backupsmore speaks for itself, even if it was the first place I met people anywhere near my level. It's where I met Fiddleford and I am still glad of that, even if I think I may have ruined his life. As for Gravity Falls…I do love it but why do you think I invited him up here in the first place? I never wanted to be a solitary traveler. I do my best work with a partner. And by the time he was up here there was Bill and that had always caused tension even before I knew that he was evil. At least at home I never risked destroying the world."

Stan felt his heart clench at that. Thanks to him, Ford had spent thirty fucking years as a solitary interdimensional traveler and expected to spend a good deal more. But not this time. This time they had fixed that.

Technically, he didn't know if Ford had truly been alone that whole time (of course he had met other beings but that wasn't the same thing) and now he had no way of knowing as the Ford before him would have no idea what he was even talking about. But he had never allowed himself to think that maybe Ford was happier where he was. He might 'miss Dimension 52' but he had never thrown that in Stan's face no matter how many times they had argued about whether Stan was right to bring him back. He never mentioned anyone he had left behind. He didn't want Ford to have had to have been any more miserable during those _three decades_ than he had to be but, selfishly, he didn't want there to be anything that would make Ford torn about wanting to be home.

Well. It wasn't the only thing he was selfish about in that situation. It wasn't anywhere close to the worst.

"Try not to blame yourself for falling victim to something you had no way of ever seeing coming," Stan said. "And Jersey wasn't tainted by the science fair?"

"My relationship with you was, of course," Ford said slowly after a moment's thought. "But that was high school. I couldn't stand to look back on our teenage years. But our childhood? That was…that was different."

"…Yeah," Stan conceded. He thought about that time a lot. Probably more than was good for him, really.

"I can't blame myself for not seeing what Bill was after coming," Ford said. "Objectively, he was a brilliant manipulator and he won my trust over the course of years. But I still should have been more cautious. I failed, too, and there's little point denying it."

Stan made a disapproving noise but, after all, he wasn't there. He didn't know. "You didn't ruin Fiddleford's life."

Stan had never seen such a skeptical look before in his life.

"I mean, his life is hardly ideal right now though, frankly, I've seen ruined and this ain't it," he said. "But the portal ruined his life. Bill ruined it. He ruined his own life by not seeking help, even if whoever it was would never really understand, and then by starting that cult."

"I didn't help him."

"You had bigger concerns," Stan said. "You were in no place to be helping anyone else; you could barely even help yourself. And you're helping him now."

"Because of you," Ford insisted. "If it hadn't been for you I never would have even seen how bad it was. I had no intention of speaking to him after what had happened."

Without him, Ford never would have had the chance to. He still remembered the look on Ford's face once he was finally face-to-face with Old Man McGucket.

"I told you, I'm on the outside," Stan said. "It makes these things easier. And you don't know that you wouldn't have brought it up yourself if I hadn't taken an interest."

"Maybe," Ford said but he didn't sound convinced. "So what are you planning on doing, Stanley?"

Stan burst out laughing. "What, are you asking me for my five year plan?"

"No, I just…Are you staying in Gravity Falls?"

"I've got nowhere else I'd rather be," Stan said honestly. "I hope we're past you threatening to kick me out."

"I _never_ threatened to kick you out," Ford reminded him.

"Yeah, well, maybe that much is true," Stan said.

"You can stay as long as you want. You can stay forever, in fact. But don't you think it would be odd for us to spend the rest of our lives living together?"

"Well it's not like you know you won't leave," Stan said.

Ford stared at him. "Yeah, I think it's pretty safe to say that I won't."

"Well as for the rest, who cares? Certainly not the citizens of Gravity Falls and when was the last time either of us were the poster children of normality anyway? You fall in love, get married, have kids, whatever, we can reexamine the issue then."

"Well, what about you?" Ford asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You could do that, too."

Stan blinked at him. "Course, I could do that, couldn't I? Huh."

"But what are you going to do while you're here?" Ford asked. "I'm making do on research grants. I might make a book one day."

"You'd have an easier time getting it published if you just take out certain parts of your journals, like anything to do with summoning Bill or zombies, and claiming it's fiction," Stan advised.

Ford sent him such a scandalized look that Stan had to laugh.

"I don't really have any plans, Pointdexter. I'll try to make some money somehow. I won't have it said that I'm a freeloader."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "After everything you've done over the past few weeks? Perish the thought."

Stan grinned at that. "Well, uh, thanks. It's always nice to be appreciated."

"I think I do know what you want, though," Ford said quietly.

"Oh?"

"The Mystery Shack."

Stan tensed. "Ford, I don't want to start a fight. In fact, didn't you promise me that if we came back here we weren't going to do this again? I thought that at least we could avoid fighting about the same damn thing!"

"I'm not starting a fight," Ford insisted.

Stan crossed his arms. "What, then? You want to rub my face in the fact that I'm never going to get that. I know that already. No need to remind me."

"That would be blatantly provoking you," Ford said.

"So, what? You're telling me that you'd be okay turning your house into a tourist trap and having strangers over all day that you'd have to accommodate?"

"No."

Stan sighed. "Then what?"

"I'm just saying, now that I understand what you're trying to do better…I know a guy who can build a shack pretty cheap and make good time, too. There's a lot of forest around here and we need to put that unicorn gold to good use. What better use than an investment in the future?"

Stan stared at him. He tried to say something but the words wouldn't come out.

"Stanley?" Ford asked, concerned.

Stan still hadn't found his voice. No matter. He knew what he wanted to communicate. He engulfed Ford in a hug instead.

"Oh, uh, what? We hug now?" Ford asked, flabbergasted. Tentatively, he returned the hug.

"Thank you," Stan whispered. " _Thank you_."

"It's a free country, Stan," Ford pointed out. "I don't own all this land. I couldn't stop you."

Technically, there was very little anyone could do to stop him if he really had his mind set on something. But the Mystery Shack, as much as he loved it, wasn't worth ruining things with Ford. They were still so new and untested.

He had resigned himself to living without it, choosing Ford instead with no hesitation, and now here Ford was giving it back to him.

"Thank you."


	16. Chapter 16

"So, I figured I should probably tell you that I'm actually from the future."

He had given a lot of thought to how he was going to tell Ford about this or even if he was going to at all. But he figured what was the worst that could happen? He knew Ford wouldn't kick him out and anything else could be fixed. Why keep a huge secret for half of his life if he didn't have to? It was stressful enough the first time. Not that he was planning on making an announcement or anything but if anyone had a right to know, it was Ford.

Ford dropped his journal. "What?"

"I figured I should probably tell you I'm from the future," Stan dutifully repeated.

"Stan, are you joking?" Ford asked.

"Not even slightly," Stan said.

"Then are you feeling alright?"

"Sure. I'm just trying to tell you about my being from the future, is all," Stan replied.

"That's impossible," Ford said flatly.

"Well, clearly it's not because I am."

"You say you are," Ford countered. "I assume you'll be able to prove it?"

"Yeah, probably not," Stan said. "Unless we found a way to call a time agent or something and, trust me, those guys are more trouble than they're worth. I mean, I'll concede it's pretty unlikely but we do live in Gravity Falls and you kind of have a thing about anomalies. Look at everything with the portal and Bill and Fiddleford and tell me that it's not even worth considering."

Ford hesitated and bent down to pick up his journal, probably to give him some extra time to think. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll hear your story and reserve judgment until the end."

"And ask me a million questions, right?" Stan asked fondly. "I know you."

"Well, with such a story, such things are to be expected," Ford said. "Come on, let's sit down."

He and Ford moved over to the kitchen table, sitting across from each other.

"First things first, when are you claiming you're from?"

"2012," Stan replied. "The world doesn't end in 2000. It does end in 2012 but it gets better and that was summer and not December so what do those Mayans know, anyway? I guess it could still end in December but I don't even have the patience to deal with that. Nor that I guess I'd have to, having went back in time thirty years."

"2012," Ford repeated skeptically. "You expect me to believe that you managed to go back in time _thirty years_?"

Stan considered it. He'd lived in Gravity Falls long enough that if they didn't give off an air of lying, he probably would just accept it. But Ford wasn't as good as he was at sniffing out conmen (Bill would have had to take a different tact with him as he'd never have fallen for benevolent muse) and he'd been a resident in Gravity Falls twenty-five years less than Stan had.

"Maybe not right away," Stan said. "You have to let me get into why I went back."

" _How_ did you even go back?" Ford asked. "That's the true sticking point. I can easily imagine why you might want to go back in time, even if I wouldn't know when you picked or why."

Stan shrugged. "Eh, the how's the least interesting part."

"I don't think so," Ford disagreed. "Time travel would be hard enough but you not only claim to have done that but wound up in your younger body as well."

"You mean why am I doing a Peggy Sue Got Married and not a, I don't know, Looper?" Stan asked. "Looper came out recently so I don't expect you to know that."

"I've never heard of the other one, either."

"Really? I could have sworn that was an 80s film."

"It's 1982," Ford pointed out.

"Ah. And I suppose you don't really get out a lot," Stan said. "Look, the point is, having two of me running around wouldn't accomplish anything. I probably wouldn't live to get back to 2012 and if I did I'd be ancient. I wouldn't be able to be with the people I cared about as I'd be thirty years too old and I wouldn't be able to fix things if my younger self were still there to mess everything up."

"Mess _what_ up?" Ford demanded.

Stan ignored that. "So after saving the world from that time it ended, it makes sense in context, Time Baby felt he owed us a debt."

"Time Baby?"

"Well, he's some sort of giant baby with all these amazing powers. I think he's the last of his species or something cliché like that. He's frozen in a glacier but global warming frees him and he conquers the future. I don't know much about him but he wants to stop Bill so I guess he's not so bad for a tyrannical dictator."

Ford froze, looking horrified. "Bill?"

Stan winced. "I did tell you the world ended, didn't I? So, uh, the kids got all mushy and insisted they had all they needed and gave the wish to me. There was only one thing I was ever going to pick."

"Not the science fair?" Ford asked, then immediately looked like he wanted to kick himself.

"Honestly, it wasn't the first thing that occurred to me," Stan said. "Plus, having to deal with Dad again? And figuring out what to do with myself while you were off at college and needed a break from me? Not really something I was looking to relive. And there were too many variables."

"When did you-when are you _claiming_ you went back to?" Ford asked. "And why?"

"I think you know," Stan said gently.

"The day you came back here," Ford said.

"Well, actually, a few days before that. I needed some time to center myself, you know? The day I got that postcard," Stan said.

Ford looked like he was bracing himself. "And why would you need to go back to when we reunited?"

"I thought you didn't believe me," Stan said.

"Just tell me."

Stan winced. "Okay, this is the part that I really didn't want to tell you about."

"You're the one who brought this up completely unprompted. You had to know that you wouldn't be able to do that and not tell me what you came to fix and why."

"I know that! It's just…not really an easy thing to tell someone about. To tell _you_ about most of all."

Ford just crossed his arms and waited.

"You know how, right after I got here, you were surprised at how well I was taking just how badly you asked me for help?" Stan asked rhetorically.

Ford's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "What did you do?"

Stan smiled ruefully. "It wasn't just me but I know why you'd say that."

"What happened?" Ford asked again.

"You know how bad things were for you then. _I_ know how bad things were for you then. And I did everything I could to avoid disaster."

"I don't know what kind of disaster you're thinking of but I'd like to think you succeeded," Ford said.

"Damn right I did," Stan said, nodding. "But the first time…Look, we've already had it out about this. I've forgiven you and you've forgiven me and it's done. But way back a million years ago in 1982, it wasn't like that. I destroyed your project on accident because I didn't want to lose you and I knew it wouldn't be the same with you on the other side of the country no matter how good your intentions were. Then I not only ruined your future-"

Ford looked pain. "Stan-"

"But I ruined my own. Our asshole dad kicked me out," Stan said, raising his voice. "I tried to make it on my own but that obviously didn't happen. The life I led…well, I've talked enough about that. I had nothing and no one and only occasionally even stayed in touch with Ma. Then I get that postcard from you. It doesn't say much. 'Please come'. Nothing about why or anything about missing me or anything. But I did. I just dropped everything and came. And maybe I didn't have much else going on but I also didn't really have any way to get to Oregon from New Mexico. It's a good thing I wasn't farther away or who knows how'd I have managed it?"

"I-I wasn't thinking about that," Ford said. "Though, I'll admit, the Dead End Flats did give me pause. It's just that I was-"

"It's okay, Ford," Stan interrupted. "I know. It's okay. But I came and I never quite learned how to manage my expectations when it came to family. I heard nothing from ten years and suddenly you wanted me to come and, I'll admit it, I was expecting something out of the movies. Maybe a little less mushy but a proper reunion."

"And I didn't give it to you."

Stan laughed. "In a word…no. And I get it. You were afraid of the end of the world. It's pretty reasonable. Save the world and we have all the time in the world to reunite. I can't really see you being so much an asshole I could help you hide the journal and you'd still want nothing to do with me."

Ford cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'd like to think I wouldn't, no."

"So I wanted what I wanted and you had a completely different priority and I had no way of understanding what you were up against."

"I would have tried to explain it," Ford protested.

"Sure," Stan agreed. "But how well do you think that worked? I hadn't _seen_ any of it. I just knew you were paranoid and worried about eye stealing and had a weird-ass portal I didn't understand _at all_."

"I _knew_ you wouldn't believe it," Ford said, almost to himself.

"Then you asked me if I remembered our plan to sail around the world. Then you told me you wanted me to get on a boat and sail as far away from you as possible. With the journal, of course, but with me not really grasping the significance of what was going on with you…"

"Oh," Ford said, looking horrified. "I, uh, don't suppose that went over well."

"That's one way of putting it."

"How else would you put it?" Ford asked.

"I got mad and thought you were just being selfish and putting what you wanted over me when you're the one who summoned me. I threatened to burn your journal and you tackled me to get it back."

"I- _tackled_ you?"

"I might have had a lighter. We got into this big fist-fight and said all sorts of horrible things to each other. At some point we accidentally turned on the portal. I was branded. To your credit, you stopped the second that happened and tried to apologize. I had just been fucking _branded_. I wasn't in the mood for apologies. But maybe that was why, when I pushed you, you fell back so far. You were standing right on the safety line but I didn't see it. I pushed you again and I-" Stan broke off. He couldn't continue.

Ford stared at him in horrified silence.

Stan wanted to explain. There were so many things he needed to say. He needed to _apologize_ again because there would never be enough apologies for what had happened. Even if this Ford had been spared that. But he couldn't say anything. His mouth wasn't working.

"Fuck, Stan. No wonder you came back. If I disappeared into the portal…you'd never even know what happened," Ford finally managed to say. "I just…fuck. I can't even imagine how long I'd have survived out there. Not long, I wouldn't think. I have my moments but I'm not exactly what I'd call tough."

"You survived thirty years," Stan told him.

Ford's eyes widened. "How do you-"

Stan smiled joylessly. Hopefully something that happened thirty years in the future in a timeline that no longer existed wouldn't provoke the kind of reaction in Ford as it had when he had actually done it and created the means Bill needed to end the world. "I told you that I'd seen one of those portals before. That I knew how it worked. Take thirty years and even a knucklehead like me can figure it out.

"So you…what? You brought me back?"

Stan didn't blame Ford for the disbelief in his voice. "Thirty years, Ford. It's longer than you've even been alive."

"How could I even be alive after all that time? I don't know what it's like on the other side of the portal but you have to understand Fiddleford saw the other side for less than a minute and, well."

Stan did know. "I don't know most of what happened. You never really wanted to talk about it. You were…well kind of a verifiable badass. I hate to admit it but when you walked out of the portal the first thing you did was punch me in the face and you kind of kicked my ass. You're a survivor, Ford, whatever else you may be."

"Me? A…badass?" Ford couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," Stan said, smiling. "You really were."

"But wait, if you reopened the portal then did-"

"Yeah," Stan admitted. "I might have created a rift. Bill might have gotten his hands on it. It might have ended the world. We fixed it. No big deal."

"No big deal," Ford repeated faintly.

"Okay, it might have been a big deal. But we won and we all survived and that's really all that matters. And now it's never going to happen so it's all good."

"Now I'm never going to get stuck in the portal," Ford said. "We took it down. Bill can't get in here. It's not going to happen. And you would have known better than to end the world again anyway."

Stan pointedly looked away.

" _Stan_."

"What? I made sure it didn't happen."

"But if it had?"

"Well," Stan said eventually. "It's not like I don't have the utmost faith in our ability to stop Bill. I know how we did it once."

"Stanley," Ford said, looking like he didn't quite know how to respond to that.

"But it didn't happen. Don't try to convince me I shouldn't do that for you because I'm well aware of that and I'd still do it and if thirty years of failure and actually living through Weirdmageddon didn't change my mind then you sure as hell won't," Stan said. "So just take it as a gift. I _would_ do literally anything to save you. But I won't have to. All the good parts of that and none of the problems."

"But what if it does come to that in the future?" Ford asked. "Bill's still out there and he knows I stand a better chance of stopping him than most people. Than anyone except possibly you depending on what kind of future knowledge you have. If he knows anything about you, he'll know what you're willing to do to get me back and…it might just come to that."

"Those were some very specific circumstances that led to that even being an issue and they _can't_ just be recreated," Stan said. "I can't promise no other schmuck will get dragged into this but I think you and me are at least done with this."

Ford nodded but he still looked a little uneasy. Ignoring the big picture had never sat right with him, even in a strictly hypothetical situation where Stan admitted it wasn't the choice he should be making. But hadn't he always known that?

"What about Fiddleford?"

Stan winced. He'd hoped that Ford wouldn't ask but he suppose that he really knew better than to expect it. "You're gone. I never knew he was connected to you. And he never stops using that memory gun. Not until it no longer works on him."

Ford started violently. "He-he erases his entire memory?"

"I never knew exactly what happened," Stan cautioned. "His memory eventually started coming back and I don't know if he remembered the accident or not but he never said. Maybe it was his choice, maybe it was an accident, maybe it was something more malicious. All I know is that sometime in the next year, I don't even remember _when_ , he was found at the museum with no memory and looking twice his age. His son is ashamed of him – though he still lives here – and he's the town kook. I didn't believe it at first when I found out you two used to work together."

"So you saved him, too," Ford breathed, looking awed.

"Or trying to, at any rate," Stan said. "I know you two had your issues and what he did was not okay but he didn't deserve that. No one would. And I didn't come here seeking to change that but once I saw him…once I knew…how could I not?"

Ford blinked rapidly a few times. "I…yes. That was definitely the correct course of action in that case. I'd like to think that if I hadn't literally been trapped in another dimension that I would have helped him but I hadn't tried to help him before so who can say what really would have happened? At any rate, I'll never know."

"So does this mean you believe me about the future?"

Slowly, Ford nodded. "It would explain a whole awful lot. You…did you know about the unicorns?"

"Actually, I did not. I knew someone succeeded in getting hair from them and I'm guessing that went a little violently but I had no idea about that whole racket thing," Stan said. "Not until I saw it and it became a little obvious."

"Why are you telling me this, Stan?" Ford asked.

"Uh, well, you asked?"

"Not about the unicorn, about the future," Ford said. "I can't guarantee that I'd never be able to piece it together. You are objectively terrible about remembering when things 'from the 80s' came out, after all, but it's not like I was even beginning to suspect you. You…You were gone so long that I didn't know you well enough to realize you must actually be pushing sixty instead of pushing thirty."

"I didn't want to finally make up and have things be right between us again and have this big secret between us," Stan admitted. "I didn't know if I'd be able to convince you but I could at least try. I'm sure I could make some predictions. Reagan gets shot but doesn't die, the fall of the Berlin Wall, that kind of thing but that would take years. Before we made up, before we Bill-proofed our lives, I didn't want to risk it. But now, even if I didn't necessarily want to have to explain all of this, I had no real reason _not_ to tell you."

Ford smiled at him.

A part of Stan he hadn't realized had been tense suddenly relaxed.

"Thank you, Stan, for telling me," Ford said. "I'm, uh, probably going to ask you a million questions about this, you know."

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't," Stan said. "I really can't explain how time wishes work, you know. It's just sort of Time Baby's magical space powers or whatever. But other than that I'll answer what I can."

"I still can't believe you went through all of that just for me," Ford marveled, shaking his head. "I mean, it sounds like you did alright for yourself. You settled into town, learned how to operate the portal, saved the world…opened up the Mystery Shack?"

Stan grinned sheepishly. "Guilty."

"Well, that does explain a lot, too. Hopefully the version you build here will be almost as good as using my house. Which is seriously not happening."

Stan shrugged. "I'll take it. Yeah, things worked out okay for me. They worked out okay for you, too. But while having to hide who I was and what I was doing and trying to bring you back was…I'm not going to lie. It was rough." He was, however, maybe not going to mention the name stealing. Ford would really be happier not knowing and he'd be happier not having to justify why in another timeline their family hadn't been allowed to mourn the right brother and he was now stuck with an impressive criminal record. "But whatever you went through on the other side of the portal? I saw the scar tissue. And, accident or not, I did that. So when I saw a chance to fix it, I took it."

Ford just shook his head. "You're really something else, aren't you?"

"I've been called that before," Stan replied. "Sometimes even as a compliment!"

Ford laughed. "This time it's a compliment. It is most definitely a compliment."


	17. Chapter 17

Honestly, Stan wasn't quite sure if Fiddleford was getting better. He didn't know how such things were measured. But it had been a few weeks and he hadn't erased his memory. He had gone out with them a few times and seemed more at ease speaking with Ford. Stan he had never been particularly ill at ease with. He had even encountered some paranormal creatures and, though looking distinctly unhappy, had quite managed to survive.

Stan had even managed to coax the two of them into playing 'Never Have I Ever' with him. Objectively, Stan was terrible at the game. There wasn't much he hadn't done. And the fact that he was literally twice Ford and Fiddleford's age – and Ford knew it – didn't help matters. Sure it was all on the honor system and most of it were things the other two didn't know he'd done but he didn't get much satisfaction for winning a game like this by cheating. It didn't even take any skill, just not admitting anything. And there was no prize, either. What the point was of no prizes was beyond him.

Fortunately, something strange and wondrous was going on. He and Fiddleford had formed an unspoken alliance to take Ford down. The only problem was that while they could guarantee they knew Ford well enough to be able to consistently get him, they didn't always know each other well enough not to cost them a point as well. But he supposed there had to be a winner between the two of them as well, just as long as Ford came in third still.

"Never have I ever nearly destroyed the world," Fiddleford said.

Ford stared at him. "Are you serious? You helped build the portal!"

"Yes but it was your plan from Bill who you trusted and let possess you and who you summoned in the first place," Fiddleford said. "That's an added degree of separation."

Ford turned to him. "Stanley?"

Stan shrugged. "Eh, I'm with Fiddleford. At some point, we can't blame literally everyone for doing something that can contribute to the death of the world."

"It's not literally everyone, it's the person who built the portal _with_ me," Ford objected. He shook his head. "Ah, why did I even ask you?"

"Because theoretically I'm more objective than either of you," Stan replied.

Ford laughed. "Theoretically. Right. You'd better put a finger down, too."

Obediently, Stan did so.

"Wait, what's this?" Fiddleford objected. "You can't just intimidate someone into putting down a finger, Stanford."

"I'm not intimidating him."

"I feel intimidated," Stan declared.

"You haven't been intimidated since the first time you tried to talk to Carla McCorkle," Ford said dismissively.

"That…may be true," Stan conceded. "But still."

"So, wait," Fiddleford said. "In what way have you come near destroying the world?"

"Global warming?" Stan tried.

Fiddleford looked distinctly unimpressed. "Nice try."

"Let's just say that just leaving a portal lying around may not be the best idea if we want to avoid the end of the world," Stan said delicately.

Ford glared at him. "Oh, you know that wasn't my fault."

"I didn't say anything about fault," Stan said. "But it is my turn. Never have I ever been the middle child."

Ford put a finger down. "Don't think that I don't know what you're doing."

"What are we doing?" Fiddleford asked. "Other than playing this fascinating game. I still feel it would be better if there was alcohol involved but this is working fine."

"Well, about that…Well," Ford said awkwardly.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. "I'm addicted to using a memory eraser, not to alcohol."

"We know that," Stan said. "We just don't want you to replace one addiction with another and I think I read something once about how people who are prone to having an addiction are prone to developing another. I mean, you can do what you want – within reason – because you're an adult but we don't really want to enable anything, you know?"

Fiddleford just sighed. "This is what my life is right now."

Ford shrugged. "It could always be worse."

"That is probably the least comforting thing anyone has ever said to anyone," Fiddleford said.

Stan snorted. "You have _not_ met my father."

"Nor do I have any wish to, if the things I've heard are true," Fiddleford said.

"They are."

"How do you know? You haven't even heard what I've said," Fiddleford pointed out.

"Let's just say I don't have the highest opinion of the man and move on," Stan said.

Fiddleford nodded. "I can see why."

"It's my turn," Ford said. "Never have I ever plotted with one of my roommates against another."

Fiddleford put a finger down then looked pointedly at Stan.

"Hold on, I don't think this is a valid one," Stan said. "My brother and I taking down that creepy ass society of yours was most definitely plotting."

"Oh, that is a good point," Fiddleford immediately agreed.

"Of course you'd say that," Ford said. "With all of your _blatant plotting_."

"Just because we've been blatantly plotting against you for the last two hours doesn't change the fact that we've been blatantly plotting together against Fiddleford."

"My issue is with the word 'against'," Ford claimed. "You and I weren't plotting against him. We were plotting together _for_ him. It was in his best interests."

"Agree to fucking disagree," Fiddleford said, actually sounding rather upbeat.

"I don't think that's how it works," Stan said. "Despite your attempts at lawyering, the two of us were plotting and he was going to have something he did not want to happen to him as a result of our plotting. Therefore, it is plotting against."

"Yes, but-"

Fiddleford groaned loudly. "Just put down your finger already. How long do you want to argue about word choice?"

"I mean, if you want us to clarify the meaning of is for you, we can do that, too," Stan chimed in.

Ford looked confused. "What? Is that…you know what, fine. Although I wouldn't put a finger down in this case. I'd just go again and you can put a finger back up. Or leave it down and not put another one down when you know I'm going to just get you again."

"I'm feeling persecuted," Fiddleford complained.

"It's kind of what happens when you have so few people playing," Stan remarked.

"Okay, how about this," Ford said. "Never have I ever had my memory erased."

Fiddleford put his finger back up and then made a big show of putting it back down.

"Uh…" Stan said.

"Uh? What do you mean by 'uh'?" Fiddleford asked. "Either you did or you didn't. And I'm pretty sure that you didn't."

"Well, that's just it," Stan said. "I'm pretty sure that I haven't, either. But if you went up to Lazy Susan-er, regular Susan and asked her if she'd ever had her memory erased she'd also said no and I know that that's not true."

Ford frowned at him. "Why would you call her Lazy Susan? That seems rude. I don't know what her work ethic is but that shouldn't matter either way."

"No, it actually was about…" Stan trailed off as he realized that calling her that because he had accidentally messed up her eye was also quite rude. It might even be ruder. The residents of Gravity Falls (him included, of course) could kind of be assholes sometimes, couldn't they? And her eye was fine now anyway. "Never mind. Sorry. Forget about that."

"I knew that Susan had her memory erased," Fiddleford said. "I'm pretty sure you didn't, though."

"That's only 'pretty sure' again, though. I can't be completely sure. No one can but Ford because he put the metal plate in before you came around to try and erase his memory," Stan pointed out.

Ford gave him a meaningful look. If Fiddleford didn't know about Stan's memory being erased it more than likely hadn't in 1982. But that left a good thirty years where he couldn't be sure. "Half a finger?"

"What good is half a finger?" Fiddleford asked. "If you have half a finger up and someone says something that you've done, you're still out just the same as if you had a full finger up."

"Well, I don't know. It's a strange situation and I don't want to have to pick again," Ford said.

"You could try picking better ones then!"

"Really? You went with 'never have I ever had six fingers'!"

Fiddleford crossed his arms. "Well I haven't."

"It's your turn," Stan said.

"Never have I ever been so bad at a children's game," Fiddleford said.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, objectivity!"

"Is this even a children's game?" Ford wondered.

"I've always played it with alcohol so while I might not have always been legally allowed to have it, it definitely wasn't a children's game."

"We're seriously playing a drinking game and you won't let us actually drink?" Fiddleford demanded.

Stan shrugged. "Well I don't know if it's a drinking game, per se, just a game I played while drinking."

"Pick again," Ford told him.

"Um…this is hard…" Fiddleford admitted.

"It might not be if you weren't intentionally targeting me," Ford helpfully hinted.

"Never have I ever…had my own house built!"

Grumbling, Ford put a finger down and Stan high-fived Fiddleford.

"You two aren't even trying to be subtle," he complained.

Stan shrugged again. "You did call us out on it like twice. At this point, pretending we're not is just insulting your intelligence."

"It's really for you that we do this," Fiddleford said innocently. "Stanley, I believe that you are up. Take all the time you want, we both know that Ford is going to need all the time he can get to try and think of one that we can actually use."

"Says the man who just had to re-go," Ford shot back.

"Your tactics will not make the voters forget."

"Voters? What are you even talking about?"

"I know!" Stan said. "Never have I ever had a crush on a nerd!"

Two fingers immediately went down.

"Really, Stanley," Fiddleford said reprovingly.

"Is it my fault you two are so obvious?" Stan asked unrepentantly.

"It's my turn now," Fiddleford said.

"Okay, I am not be the best at this but you can't outright skip me!" Ford protested.

"It was worth a try," Fiddleford muttered.

"Never have I ever failed a test," Ford said smugly.

Stan laughed and put his finger down. He really couldn't say how many he'd failed before Ford had started practically shoving his test under Stan's nose. It might have annoyed him towards the end that Stan had always cheated off of him but he really had started it. And for good reason, too.

To his surprise, Fiddleford put a finger down, too. His cheeks were burning and at least this indicated that he was playing fair, too.

Even Ford looked surprised. "You?"

Fiddleford coughed awkwardly. "Yes, well, it was an anatomy class. I knew the brain was going to be worth twenty percent of our grade. I had a week to learn it and she gave us a seven or eight page packet that had all the information to remember. But…it was seven or eight pages. Of anatomy. And I guess I didn't take as many notes as I should have. I remembered her saying we didn't need to know the whole thing but couldn't remember which parts she said not to worry about. I remembered some pages she had commented on. And I had a report to write up that weekend, too. I did the best I could but hadn't even looked at one or two of the pages I needed. There was this whole wordy chart I'd need to know and I just didn't know it. I did manage to get over half of it. It was so humiliating. The teacher just kept shaking her head and asking what happened and said it wasn't like me. What was I supposed to say?"

Ford looked to be at a loss for words.

"Fuck college, I'm free?" Stan offered.

Fiddleford's head hung. "It was in high school!"

"Oh, well, I can definitely feel you there. Fuck high school, we're free!"

Fiddleford did manage a laugh at that.

"And hey, now it really is your turn."

"Never have I ever not wanted to kill Stanford Pines."

"Okay, you know that can't work," Ford protested. "It's a double negative, to begin with, and there have been plenty of times where you haven't wanted to kill me."

"Before you met, for example," Stan suggested.

Ford gave him a look. "Stop helping."

"It's cute that you think I'm trying to help."

Fiddleford sighed. "Fine. This game has so many rules."

"Maybe we're all just really bad at it," Stan said.

"Never have I ever kidnapped someone."

Stan put his finger down. Ford didn't.

"Come on, Ford. I know you have."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ford said stiffly.

"See, you say that but you also look like you know exactly what I'm talking about and you just don't agree," Fiddleford replied.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about," Stan said. "So please share."

"Please don't," Ford requested.

"Well, you said so yourself earlier, Ford, we need a somewhat impartial party," Fiddleford said. "How can he judge if he doesn't know?"

"We also established what a terrible job he is doing of being objective," Ford said. "You might as well just not tell him and I'll put my finger down."

"I could," Fiddleford agreed easily. "But I really do think that that would be wrong or something. Cheating?"

Stan snorted. "Oh, there's mine. Never have I ever cared if something was cheating."

"We'll get to you in a minute, Stan," Fiddleford said. "And probably both put a finger down. Okay, now Stanford and I have never agreed about the kidnapping. The people he's kidnapping believe themselves to be victims of kidnapping and they don't want to go with you so I don't know why this is even an issue except maybe Ford just doesn't want to think of himself as a kidnapper."

"I mean, who would?" Stan asked.

"You didn't seem to have any problem with it," Ford pointed out.

"That's not having no problem so much as being more, well, honest, I guess. Paradoxically," Stan said. "Go figure. And when you get to be my age, labels and things really start to bother you less."

Ford threw his hands up in the air. "Seriously? Are you even kidding me? Are you making any sort of effort at all?"

Fiddleford shot Stan a confused look. "What's with him?"

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm only his twin."

"I am older than you are, though," Fiddleford pointed out.

Stan smiled beatifically. "Oh, my sweet summer child."

Ford let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

Stan decided to take pity on his brother. Well. Sort of. Not really. "So who is he kidnapping that he doesn't want to admit that he's kidnapping?"

"Nobody," Ford said firmly.

"What? You're holding that poor man captive? It's been twenty years, Ford, just let him get back to Penelope!" Stan exclaimed.

Ford just rolled his eyes. "The next time you call me a nerd, I'm bringing this up."

"And you're free to do that," Stan said. "But I remember that pin-up you have of Carl Sagan."

"It's not a pin-up!" Ford protested.

"Well…" Fiddleford drawled, grinning. "Anyway, back to the kidnapping. It's mostly the gnomes. They don't like him and they don't want to be studied. But since when has a little something like consent ever bothered him? He nearly lost a finger trying to find out what was under those hats."

"Worth it," Ford declared. "And are you really going to lecture me about consent?"

"Not _lecturing_ ," Fiddleford insisted. "Just casually mentioning it because your brother asked."

"Never have I ever been the smartest one in the room," Stan said.

"Oh, well that can't be true," Fiddleford objected.

"Yeah, I mean, at some points you were the only one in the room making you the smartest by default," Ford said.

Fiddleford gave Ford an incredulous look.

"Was…that not helpful?" he asked. "It was meant to be helpful. And, I mean, you've also been in a room with small children, right?"

"Yeah, you're really not helping," Fiddleford said.

"Well, I don't know what else to say! I can't know everyone my brother has come into contact with and how smart they are," Ford objected. "Although…gullible tourists."

"What?" Fiddleford asked. "What does that even have to do with…oh."

He still didn't get it but Stan had grinned at that. "Okay, fine."

"Besides, you rebuilt what again?"

"I don't know, you'll have to tell me," Stan said, knowing Ford wasn't actually going to bring up Stan's own work on the portal. The last thing they needed was for Fiddleford to see the both of them as threats to the universe. "Never have I ever had a little sibling."

"No fair," Ford protested. "You already did a sibling one."

"I did be a middle sibling. These are completely different," Stan insisted.

"I'll say," Fiddleford said as he put a finger down. "How are you not out by now, Ford? You lose a finger pretty much every round."

"I do think that I might actually like this game," Ford said thoughtfully. "I mean, sure, you two are trying to get me out but I do have a natural advantage."

"That is true," Stan said. "Should we allow that? I mean, he gets two more things he could have done than we do."

"The rules were to count until we run out of fingers. Is it my fault we're playing in a world that places such a heavy importance on ten fingers?" Ford asked. "It's like finally, after all these years, my time has come."

"Your time being a minor advantage in a drinking game we're playing without alcohol?" Fiddleford asked.

"My time is here and it is _beautiful_."

Stan laughed and decided that maybe, just maybe, he might have kicked the habit of being a screw-up.

Maybe, against all odds, the three of them were going to make it through this.

He hoped so. And if not…He wasn't quite sure how to get involved with Globnar but he was sure that, given thirty years or so, he could figure it out.


	18. Chapter 18

Stan was not pacing around; he had far too much experience for something like that. But he was filled with a kind of nervous energy he just couldn't seem to quell and it was driving him crazy.

"It's going to be _fine_ ," Ford told him for the third time that morning.

"I know that," Stan insists. "I just hate waiting for things."

And he did know that. His first tour was a disaster for the first half when he was showing them the actual nerdy science stuff they claimed to want to see (even if he didn't know what any of it did and made no effort to give a good performance. And he never had figured out why Ford had a Hawaiian shirt just lying around. It really wasn't his style) but he had kept trying and eventually the Mystery Shack had started making the tourist guidebooks. And he'd had bad events before. The 'free pizza' wax Stan one, for one. And the fact people continued to fall for it when he hadn't given out anything for free to anyone who didn't happen to be related to him in his life was just another one of life's little mysteries.

He wanted today to go well. But it wouldn't change anything if it didn't. And he was practically an expert at this kind of thing by now, even if there was only so far he could go if he intended for Ford to still be speaking to him by the end of the day.

"You always did. Still, this is a big day. The opening of the Mystery Shack."

"1983 instead of 1982," Stan said. "I can't believe I've been here a year."

"Neither can I," Ford said. "Though honestly I keep oscillating between feeling like you just got here and feeling like you've always been here."

"Me, too," Stan said.

He had gotten used to being his old and in much better shape younger self again, even if getting back into the habit of actually trying to take care of himself properly was hard. There were some days he woke up and forgot that Ford wasn't still trapped on the other side of the portal. He had never quite gotten used to that before coming back here and still hadn't quite accepted that it hadn't happened and wasn't going to happen.

Ford wasn't having any problems letting go of a terrible alternate timeline he hadn't lived through.

"I mean, I didn't see you for ten years. Ten years. And it was a change, at first, but then I got by and barely even noticed you were gone," Ford continued.

Stan snorted. "Yeah, thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that. But ten years is a long time. People can get used to just about anything in ten years."

He had never gotten used to not having Ford in his life for ten years. Never gotten used to _being_ Stanford and having his brother lost to some sci-fi nightmare. Maybe he just wasn't very adaptable. You'd think he would be, all the things he'd managed to survive, but frankly he kind of had his doubts.

"And then you came back and it's like the last ten years never happened," Ford said. "Maybe it's the twin thing?"

"That or the 'I am hell-bent on making this work' thing," Stan said. "You know, I never did actually hide that journal."

Ford gave him a look. "I know."

"Whoops. Ah, well, I'm sure it'll be fine. Hey, so, this wasn't actually the Mystery Shack until 1989."

"What was it before then?" Ford asked.

"The Murder Hut," Stan replied. "But some annoying parents kept getting on my case about this maybe not being 'family friendly' and I didn't really care what they thought but I decided they might have a point about families not stopping by. I did start to get more visitors after the name change."

"Why would you call it the Murder Hut in the first place?" Ford asked suspiciously. "You said you got your start because everyone was so fascinated wondering what I was up to."

"Well, yeah…"

"Stan."

"I'm just saying, maybe people really seemed to think that you were some kind of serial killer and some people were already calling it that and so I was really just going off of what was already working."

"A-A what?" Ford couldn't believe it. "If I was a serial killer why weren't there any reports of disappearances? Well, I mean, I guess there are occasionally some because this is Gravity Falls. But why wouldn't they try to investigate or something? And why would people pay money to go into the home of a supposedly still-active serial killer?"

"Well, people are idiots," Stan said. "And the local law enforcement is notoriously terrible. And I might have told everyone that I had retired and was now just giving tours and recreating my former glory."

"Recrea-oh my God, Stanley, what were you _doing_ up here?" Ford demanded.

"Well, I wasn't murdering anyone if that's what you're thinking," Stan said.

"I, uh, wasn't," Ford said, giving him a strange look. "But you're going to need to elaborate."

"I might have, oh I don't know, reenacted the deaths of my supposed victims in front of the crowd and then had the place haunted or something, I don't know," Stan said, shrugging. "I had some really cool effects, too! But apparently it wasn't 'decent' or 'fit for the eyes of children' or whatever so I transitioned into more of the 'look, I glued antlers on a fish' thing. I kind of preferred the old thing, to be honest, but this is easier. And it lets me update every so often which at least spices things up."

"And this is how you want to spend your life," Ford said, sounding honestly confused.

Stan nodded firmly. "It is. I could ask you some questions about why you want to continue studying the weirdness of Gravity Falls and figuring out the source of it given what happened the last time you tried that. But if you can keep doing that, I think my desire to continue a thirty-year-long career that I am, frankly, amazing at is pretty understandable."

"I suppose so," Ford said, in a tone of voice indicating he really didn't understand it at all but he was just going to go with it. Probably for the best. "I just wish Fiddleford could be here for this after months of hearing you going on about this place."

Stan shrugged. "Yeah, well, he promised he'd come take Tate up over spring break. I'm sure he will love it."

"Which one?" Ford asked.

"Fiddleford. I'm not convinced Tate's capable of expressing any emotion."

Ford rolled his eyes. "You've never even met him. He's a perfectly normal kid."

"I know him better than you do," Stan countered. "Man has a subscription to Stoic Monthly. I'm not so much surprised that a magazine like that exists as I am that there's actually an audience for it. And Tate McGucket is like the poster child for that magazine."

"Maybe he will be, or would be, decades into the future after he had to watch what became of his father," Ford said. "But the Tate I know is a good kid. He loves his family and I've never noticed any trend towards stoicism in him."

"I hope you're right," Stan said.

"I know this is what he wanted. What he should have had if I hadn't dragged him into my mess. Still…" Ford sighed. "I was sorry to see him go."

Stan had been, too. Fiddleford was a friend and, even now, he never had so many that he didn't mind losing them. Not that they weren't still friends but he lived hours away now so it wasn't the same.

Ford had wanted to see if Fiddleford would be willing to start research again, nothing connected to the portal, but he knew that there was every chance he wouldn't want to do anything connected to Bill or what had happened to him. And Stan thought that maybe he could have gotten back to that and been happy but he also remembered that laptop the kids had found. He remembered hearing how Fiddleford might have been another Bill Gates or Steve Jobs if he hadn't been sidetracked. And sure, he had lost a little time, but there was still time enough to get in on that. Maybe he could still get rich and make a name for himself. It was an apology, of sorts, and Fiddleford seemed to be doing well out there.

Part of it was something Ford couldn't understand, even if he had tried to explain it. How wrong it felt to see him still in Gravity Falls. How much, despite his ongoing recovery and full admittance that the memory gun was a terrible idea, he still had this irrational fear it would all fall apart again. He saw Fiddleford in Gravity Falls and couldn't shake the image of Old Man McGucket. It wouldn't happen this time, not that way. He knew that. And yet it felt right that Fiddleford had moved on.

And who knew what the future held anyway? Certainly not him. Not anymore.

"Hey, you never know. It might be useful to have a rich friend one day," Stan said. "Who am I kidding? It will always be useful to have a rich friend!"

Ford snorted and shook his head. "You and your money thing."

"Yes my 'money thing'," Stan said. "I will not apologize for wanting to have cash. It is a beautiful thing and being poor is terrible and I'm not quite bitter enough to wish that on you but you really don't get what a nightmare that is."

"No, I do get that," Ford insisted. "But you're kind of a money hoarder."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Stan said. "When the end comes, you'll be glad one of us is burying our gold."

"I thought the whole point of all of this was that the end _wasn't_ coming," Ford said.

Stan shook his head. "No, no, the point is that _we_ didn't cause the end of days. If I spent all this time preparing and it just never happened…I mean, it would be good, obviously, so I'm pulling for that or something. But it would be a bit of a let-down, don't you think?"

"Not even slightly," Ford said. "Have you considered _not_ preparing for the apocalypse?"

"I did," Stan said. "But that seemed downright irresponsible in the fact of our probable end of times scenario, you know?"

"I give up," Ford declared.

"We'll see how long that lasts."

Ford went over the window and peeked outside. "There's a huge crowd lined up. Are you sure you don't want to let them in or go out there or something?"

Stan shook his head. "Nah. I saw Willy Wonka. That…that came out, didn't it?"

Ford rolled his eyes. "Stan, that movie came out when we were in high school. You are terrible at this."

"I resent that but it's probably true," Stan said indifferently. "Was it that long ago? Huh. Anyway, the point is that letting them wait is good for them. It makes them want it more and it, I don't know, teaches patience or whatever. What's another twenty minutes? Are you sure you want to be here for this, though?"

"I'm pretty sure you'll accidentally set something on fire while you're waiting if I don't," Ford said. "So I'm waiting."

"You spent so long insisting you didn't want to be associated with this," Stan protested, not entirely sure why he was trying to get Ford to change his mind about being here. A part of him had always wanted to share this with his brother.

"And I don't," Ford said. "I'm not part of running this and it's not taking place at my house. But I can stop by for a visit, can't I? I'm a member of the public."

Stan gestured towards the door. "The public waits out there."

"I'm _family_. And aren't you the one who sweetened the deal for the crowd by promising to have a question and answer session with me?" Ford asked rhetorically. "All without asking me first, of course."

"It's better to apologize than ask permission!" Stan said brightly.

"And you rarely do either."

Stan shrugged. "I was giving some advice, not taking it. And that's where you've got this whole thing all wrong."

"Oh, do I?"

"First of all, I don't know that I want to get people into the habit of expecting me to actually live up to the things that I promised."

Ford stared at him. "But…why on Earth wouldn't you?"

"Because then I have to _do_ things."

"Then stop promising them in the first place!"

"But if I did that I'd get less of a turn-out," Stan explained. "Still, they always hold out the littlest bit of hope that this time there really will be free pizza. So, besides that, I promised them a question session. Not a question and answer session. So technically you don't have to answer a damn thing. Or even be there. They can ask you questions. You just don't have to ever receive the questions. Maybe we can write them down or something and promise that you'll read them eventually. And then you won't. There's all sorts of ways I can spin this."

"Well, I suppose I could answer a few questions," Ford said slowly. "Just to support you and help get those last few holdouts to realize that I do exist and I'm not your clone or whatever."

"Hey," Stan said, holding up his hands innocently. "I had nothing to do with that!"

"See, I didn't think you did but then you go denying all these things…" Ford trailed off.

"Force of habit?"

Ford just shook his head. "I mean, it's just a few questions. This isn't going to be a part of your regular tours, right?"

"Definitely not."

"Then how bad could it be?"

Stan laughed. "Oh, you should never ask that! You'll always find out and the answer is always 'worse than you think.' Besides, you don't know the people of Gravity Falls and you _certainly_ don't know tourists. I'm pretty sure we're going to have to explain the concept of twins to someone today and if they see your hands we're going to get 'but if you're twins why do you have six fingers' and all that crap."

Ford frowned and looked down at his hands.

"Well, I mean, if nothing else we know no one's coming to a place like this to make fun of someone that has an extra finger or two," Stan said.

Ford sighed. "Yes, that does sound reasonable. But I'm not sure…no, actually I am quite sure. I don't want to be another anomaly in this place."

"You won't be," Stan said fiercely. "People in Gravity Falls never notice the really weird things – not that having an extra finger is really weird! – and if anyone's an asshole I'll take care of it. If you think this will be the first time, or even close to the first time, I've had to punch a customer then you would be wrong. Besides, the way people usually respond to my attractions, they'll probably say something stupid about how you're clearly faking having an extra finger."

"It will be fine," Ford said firmly, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Stan said.

"No," Ford insisted, shaking his head. "I want to be here for this and do this for you."

"You don't have to-" Stan started to say.

"You're always telling me I don't have to do anything and you're right, you know. I don't _have_ to do anything. But I want to. Don't think I haven't noticed how you're never thrilled to go chasing after supernatural creatures that could kill us and yet you're always willing to go with me."

"It would be irresponsible to let you go alone," Stan said. "I mean, not to rub it in but Bill? Or those soulless unicorns? I prefer to be on hand so I can do the ass-kicking right then and there instead of having to hunt them down later."

"See, that's what I'm talking about. I'm sure you'd be just as thrilled to never have to see another creature again," Ford said.

Stan snorted. "Yeah but that would drive you crazy and you love that stuff way more than it annoys me. I'd never want to take it from you."

"And I wouldn't want to take what you care about away from you," Ford said. "Even if the pursuit of wealth and tricking the gullible is never something I will understand."

"You don't have to," Stan said. "And I don't have to understand your thing. Because while I have picked up a lot of weird knowledge over the years, it was always with a point. Learning for the sake of learning is just not me and it never will be. It might be better if we don't get it, actually."

"Now you've lost me," Ford said. "How could it possibly be better if we don't understand each other?"

"Because it's easy to support something that you get. Take our reunion for example. All you wanted was to protect the world from the mistakes you made. Once I knew what was going on, I understood that. The first time around all I wanted was to reunite with my family. The second time, I just wanted to protect you from a terrible fate. And you can understand both of those motives. We may not always agree about how we try and carry them out or which to prioritize but we can get it. It makes it easier. Accepting things that you don't understand? That's harder. That's a sign that we're finally on the right track."

"Stan," Ford said, fondly exasperated. "We've been on the right track for months now. Nearly a year. One of these days you're going to have to wake up and believe it."

"One of these days I will," Stan agreed. "I've got time. Thirty years worth of time."

"You always go back to the thirty years," Ford said. "And yes, I know that's when you came back from but unless you're planning on just dropping dead then, you have a lot longer. 58 isn't all that old, really. And I have it a from a terribly unreliable source I'm going to make it to 92, anyway. I can't imagine you won't still be there with me every step of the way."

Stan smiled. He liked the sound of that.

The clock chimed.

He took a deep breath and pasted on his best showman grin. "Well, here goes."

He opened the door and let his public in.

The Mystery Shack was back in business!


End file.
